


The Messenger from the Mountain

by Sarita1046



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe Hellenistic Religion & Lore, Christian Character, Crisis of Faith, F/M, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Gen, Greece, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Historical, Historical Fantasy, Magical Realism, Muslim Character, Post-World War I, Repression, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 50,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7022719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarita1046/pseuds/Sarita1046
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of World War I and a bloody conflict with Turkey in which they have lost their father, two sisters await their uncle's return to Greece. Meanwhile, both women come to question what they have been taught to believe their entire lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before the Storm

The Great War earned its name from the plethora of nations and peoples drawn up in its destruction. From the New World of America to the Old World of Europe and the Ottoman Empire, men fought and died for their families and their homelands. 

So said the courier when he ran around the houses of Ainos, a small village on the Thracian coast of Greece. A treaty had been struck in Switzerland, thus ending the first truly global war. 

“We made it, my girls!” cried George, the father of two as he embraced his daughters, Fotini and Alexandra, and their mother, Euadne. 

The young women and their mother all counted their lucky stars. Neither George nor his brother Dimitri had been called to draft. Although Dimitri served as a foot soldier with a dream of joining the navy and sailing the seas, even he considered his good fortune that Greece had not been as drastically caught up in the vast carnage that had swept the western half of the continent.

 

The year was mid 1919, toward the end of summer. An eleven-year-old Alex and her best friend Vasili accompanied her father for a stroll on the seashore, following school. 

“It seems all Fani wants to do these days is work,” Alexandra mused, referring to her sister by her nickname, sitting beside George under the setting sun. “And at the fish market too. It hardly makes sense – you already manage the shop.”

“Your sister’s always had a strong drive,” her father grinned, “Much like you, only yours is creative.”

“While hers is practical,” Alex finished the inevitable message for him. 

“I was going to say pragmatic,” her father retorted, his soft dark eyes gleaming in the sunlight. “Some may view it as practical, but pragmatism is most useful for chores and other cumbersome tasks. We need pragmatic people, make no mistake, but there is a balance to be had. Otherwise, the world would be quite the dull place, wouldn’t it?”

It was true. Alex had her own goals, after all. She wanted to teach history to children – ancient history.

“I think we should all move to England, or perhaps America,” Vasili mused, eyes not leaving the designs he was drawing with a stick in the sand. “I want to learn English. In school, they’re saying it will soon be the most important language in the world, even bigger than French.”

“First you’ll have to master Greek,” Alex giggled.

“Learn as much as you possibly can while you’re still young,” George chortled softly, “You’ve still got the minds for it.”

Vasili continued, “Alex, someday we’ll go together. So we won’t be all alone over there in a new country.” 

Alexandra glanced from her friend back into the setting sun, sinking below the now shimmering orange water. That’s when she saw something – a faint dark outline lying on the flat wet sand near the approaching tide.

“What’s that?” 

Rising and trotting out to the incoming tide, Alex knelt down to inspect the shape, taking care to lift the hem of her summer dress away from the gentle current. 

The ocean water around her ankles dropped several degrees as her eyes adjusted to the form before her.

A dead seagull. 

Alex crinkled her nose and swatted at the flies already creating a light cluster around the carcass. 

“Alex!” George called, “What have you found?”

“I don’t see anything,” Vasili squinted to see what had Alex so excited.

Starting a little at their voices and shielding her eyes against the last of the sun’s bright rays, Alex turned to her father and Vasili. 

“It’s nothing! I…”

Alex’s words were cut short by a shrill cry as the gull took off with a beat of its wings, missing her face by half a centimeter. 

The sun had now set over the horizon, leaving a stunned Alex to return hastily to her father.

 

The next morning, news arrived of the former Ottoman Empire’s declaration of war upon Greece. Thrace would be among the frontlines, and George and Dimitri were called to service. 

The weather changed along with the news – from the balmy kiss of summer to the gentle chill of oncoming autumn. 

About a week following the start of the war, Euadne convinced Fotini to quit her job at the market and kept Alex out of school.

“It isn’t safe anymore,” she warned, touching up a small ceramic work she’d just finished, “The Turks are strong, backed by a generations-strong empire.”

“Greece is an empire of thousands of years,” Alexandra pointed out and Fotini simply kept her head down and continued preparing supper.

“They have guns and blades,” their mother put in. “Weapons like your ‘gods of the sea’ could never dream of.”

Fani scoffed quietly at that. Alex may have had a ball reading about such myth, though the family knew that their mother was most prone to flights of fancy – and not only in her sleep.

“And we have medicine and astronomy,” Alex chimed right back, “We gave it all to them. We’ve nothing to fear.”

From somewhere outside, a gull cried as the first roll of fall thunder rumbled in the distance. 

 

Provided the urgency of the recent call-to-arms, basic training passed significantly faster for George than it had for Dimitri, the latter having enlisted for service several years prior of his own volition.

“I’m a businessman,” George had insisted soon after training had begun, clearly winded and sore all over. “I’m not meant to be out there, slowing down those of you who are trained. The younger men of Ainos and our neighboring villages would be best suited, surely.”

“You don’t think they’re not also here right along with you?” Dimitri asked, handing over a canister of water to his older brother. 

A cannon sounded in the distance. Still, it was hardly far enough away for George and Dimitri. 

“You were always cut out to be the soldier,” George chuckled as the two returned languidly to the reforming unit.

The afternoon heat had already set in and this far in-land, the cicadas’ song confirmed the swelter’s potency. 

Dimitri sighed as they began to march eastward. Tomorrow, training would be complete and their unit may very well separate into distinct divisions.

“We need all the strength we can muster,” was all Dimitri returned.

“For the sake of the children…the women, let’s see what this old body can do.” George steeled his resolve with a grin.

 

Alexandra and Vasili made their way to the fish market. Alex’s friend had convinced her to at least make an appearance at her sister’s place of work, for moral support if nothing else.

“We’ll just look,” he promised.

Secretly, Alex wondered if her friend fancied Fani. 

“Let’s see your sardines,” Vasili grinned once they’d arrived and Fani had approached them at the counter. 

Fani sighed, pulling a small canister from the shelf behind her and opening the lid, releasing a waft of odor. “You know I won’t ask anything of you,” she said softly.

The two of them were simply priceless, Fotini decided. Both too precocious for their own good. Though Vasili had always had quite the mischievous reputation, he was undoubtedly the only other child she’d encountered to appreciate Alex for all her quirks.

“You’re not,” returned Vasili nonchalantly, “We’re asking.”

With that, he withdrew two coins from his pocket and set them on the countertop.

Alex’s eyes widened. “Where did you get those?”

“Found them,” he replied easily, “Oh come on, you don’t think I’d started working without telling you?”

“More like you took them from someone…” Alex began and Fani wanted to admonish her, though she had to wonder the same thing. 

“Never,” Vasili assured. “I’m no thief. Keep your eyes on the ground more often, Alex. You’ll find something too, I’m sure.”

In the end, Fotini relented and sold him the sardines.  
Once outside, Vasili handed over the canister to Alex. “A treat,” he smiled brilliantly, “Luck for ending this war.”

 

Later that evening, there came news of an astonishing victory for the Greeks. 

Following a frightening few days of nearing gunfire, the Greek army had managed to stand their ground against the advancing Turks just at the edge of the border with Thrace. 

For a week after, Ainos kept quiet with joy, not wishing to test fate. Still, that didn’t stop Vasili from spilling exciting news to Alexandra.

“I have a surprise!” he informed her in a low voice just as the school day let out. “A new friend. Come with me.”

“New friend?” Alex asked as he pulled her excitedly by the arm.

“Don’t worry,” he grinned, “She’ll never replace you.”

Alex frowned in confusion as she nearly skipped to keep up with Vasili. At last, he halted by a young olive tree, beside a small field just before the path reached their sector of the neighborhood. 

“Close your eyes and wait here,” Vasili hissed gently. 

Alex was truly stupefied now, but she shut her eyes nonetheless.

Several minutes must have passed. Alexandra smiled at the cool breeze that hinted at the end of summer. 

Then she heard Vasili whisper, “Hold out your hands.”

Obeying silently, Alex’s fingers quivered at the fuzzy object she felt in her hands. Opening her eyes, she nearly gasped. It was a baby chicken. 

“A chick!”

Vasili chuckled. “Mother plans to cook her brothers and sisters. I snuck this one away, figured she wouldn’t be missed.”

“But why?” Alex stroked the pads of her fingers over the soft, yellow fur-like feathers as she marveled at how calm the baby bird sat in her hands. 

Her friend shrugged. “I didn’t think it seemed fair that they all had to go.”

Alex nearly giggled at how tiny the creature was. “What’s her name?”

“I’m not going to name her.”

Alex looked up. “How come?”

Vasili smiled thoughtfully. “When you name something, you get attached.”

Alex did laugh then. “So I guess we’re quite attached to each other.”

Vasili glanced up at her. “Well, we didn’t name each other. Though you do say my name pretty often.”

The chick’s wings fluttered a bit then, as if it wanted to fly. 

“She already wants to escape.” Alex mused. 

“Come, let’s go,” Vasili dashed off again, leaving Alexandra to follow carefully behind, still holding the baby bird gingerly. 

“Where?” she asked. “I’ll be following you all over today.” 

He truly was pure energy at times.

They descended the beach path and soon emerged back at the seashore. Alex resisted the urge to close her eyes against the bright rays of the summer sun. 

“You want to go in?” Alex asked. “We have no swim costumes.”

Vasili laughed again. “We’re not here to swim. We’re here for her.”

“She’s not a seagull,” Alex reminded him.

“We’re setting her free,” Vasili smiled, “Everyone’s off working, at school or just inside hiding from the war. No one will bother her here.”

Alex stared at the tiny thing in her hands.

“Go on,” Vasili urged, “Set her down. She’ll find her way.”

Alexandra swallowed, remembering the gull from the other day. Then she knelt and released the little bird.

"She’ll have a chance,” Alex murmured as the baby bird ruffled its short feathers. Then slowly, it trotted away from them toward the water.


	2. The Death Cry

Alexandra and Fotini couldn’t remember the exact day it happened—the day their mother went mad. The year was late 1919, not even two months after the start of the Greco-Turkish war and several weeks following the death of their father.

News had just arrived about the soldiers from the area that had been killed in battle. Papa had been taken by gunfire. The funeral was a blur. Fotini avoided everyone’s gaze and then proceeded to return home afterward and wash every plate and pot in the house until her hands grew raw. 

Vasili simply held Alex’s hand nearly the whole day. 

“He never talked down to us,” he had observed quietly the day following the wake. “He always spoke to us like adults.”

 

Mama had cried for days…

Then one night she went outside into the darkness, caring nothing of the cannon fire that often sounded through night and day from near the border. She locked in her daughters and left the house with a torch in hand, screaming curses at all Turkish people. She plundered through the darkness and waved the flames like a madwoman. A small Turkish army was camping nearby and heard her cries. Then, seeing that she was alone, the soldiers took advantage of her. Five men—they took turns with their mother. Mama lost her good sense the day she learned of Papa’s death—she lost her mind after that night.

Now it was Fotini and Alexandra who cared for their mother. She had them and they had only each other.

She could go for days without eating. In the night, she had terrible memories of the men who attacked her—how Papa couldn’t stop them, because he was dead. She always blamed herself…

“It is my fault, I asked for this…”

“No,” Fotini would coax gently, “those beastly men are to blame. You were simply grieving over Papa’s death. They pounced upon you and you had not a choice in the world. You wanted Papa, but he couldn’t come—but he wanted to, Mama. From heaven, he was screaming at those disgusting cowards!”

“What sort of a woman stalks into the night without a man at her side?” their mother insisted.

But Fotini was persistent to keep their mother conscious of her dignity. “Mama, listen to me, you were in a desperate state of mind. You hadn’t a man to walk at your side. Papa was gone, Uncle Dimitri fought at his side. You wouldn’t take us along, your precious daughters—and so, you went yourself. It was a foolish action but your intentions were all but honorable. You were a heroine that night. You are still a heroine, Mama.”

That was when their mother snapped. She struck Fotini across the face and then burst into tears, shouting curses upon herself and upon the world.

Alex was thankful—and she believed Fotini was, as well—that she had spared them in her ranting. Mama didn’t need God to become vexed for cursing her own children. With a small gasp, she thrust her hands over her ears.

All this turmoil on her mother’s part and yet Alexandra felt only numb. The guilt of it in her father’s wake threatened to break the surface, simmering just out of reach…

Fotini shut the door to Mama’s bedroom and left her to her tears. Sensing safety, Alexandra joined her in the hallway. She could tell even in the dim light from the moon that Fani was fighting tears. Swallowing the lump in her own throat, Alex embraced her sister as Fotini began to sob.

It was around then when they knew they’d lost a part of their mother—that they now had to be mother to her. She had lost all will to live, save for their presence and they had to make sure she knew that they couldn’t afford to lose her. 

Why? Their mother slept with a knife under her pillow. She said it was to keep away the bad men, but the girls hoped that she would never consider any other uses for it.

 

Once Alex had helped Fotini into bed, she waited for the gentle rhythm of her sister’s breathing that indicated she was asleep. Then she crept silently out the front door, where the silver moonlight bathed the dirt path in a luminous glow. 

Breathing in slowly, Alexandra made her way over to Vasili’s house across the way and every so lightly tapped on the window of his bedroom at the far side of his family’s home.

Soon, Vasili’s face emerged in the window and disappeared as quickly. Not a minute later, he came around to where she stood out front. Her eyes glistened, though the tears didn’t come.

“I don’t want to be home at home right now,” she stated in a monotone voice.

Vasili nodded, silently understanding. “Come on.”

He took her hand gently and led her out to the small field, where they spent the night.

“Any time you don’t feel safe, come and get me.”

They carried on that way for a while. Fani never mentioned it, to Alex’s relief. She’d expected her sister to scold her quite a bit for leaving the house at night. Indeed, Alexandra barely understood herself why she felt the need to escape. Even if it meant risking the night outside. 

At least they didn’t go very far, she reasoned. 

About a month after sleeping outside most nights and returning before their families woke at dawn, Vasili had an idea.

“Let’s run away,” he suggested as they made their way home one morning at daybreak. “We’re close enough to the coast. We’ll sneak aboard a ship and escape to America.”

Alex nearly scoffed inwardly, then took a moment to actually consider it. She loved her family yes, but she also felt they all desperately needed to start over. She could run the idea by Fani today.

As if predicting her next thought, Vasili covered one of her hands with his almost affectionately. 

“Only us,” he elaborated, “Your uncle can look after your mother and Fotini. My mother and father have each other and my brothers have them. We’ll have less of a chance of being caught if we board just the two of us.”

Alex swallowed. 

“Meet me in the field tonight right after the sun sets,” Vasili‘s voice was barely above a whisper. 

When Vasili’s hands left hers as they parted ways, her knuckles felt cool in the morning air.

 

Later that afternoon, the cannons roared louder than ever before. Fotini and Alex helped their mother down to the cellar, where they all planned to spend the night, should the cannons and gunfire carry on after nightfall. 

Eventually Mama and even Fani fell asleep, though Alex’s heart pounded frantically as she disentangled herself from her mother’s arms and hurried quietly up to the house. This was as close as the battle had yet come to their house, even nearer than when Mama had been attacked. 

After locking the back door, Alex took the back path out to the main road, winding in a different direction away from the chaos of sound behind her. 

Lying down in the tall grass, Alex curled up tight, fisting her shawl in her fingers and shutting her eyes tight as she relished in the distance of the sounds now. She’d be safe in this tall grass, surely. She’d read that soldiers preferred to avoid tall grass, so as not to run the risk of having an enemy sneak up on them. 

Vasili would come soon. He always did. All she had to do was wait. 

 

The first light of day roused her. 

Alexandra opened her eyes and sat up, looking around. The cannons and guns had gone silent, the low drone of cicadas promising another warm day – and Vasili was nowhere to be seen. 

Everything was eerily quiet as she made her way down the winding path home. Even the birds seemed to not have awoken yet. With every step, the cold chill inside her core grew stronger.

Nothing – not the billowing smoke, nor the distraught cries of her neighbors prepared her for the sight she encountered upon her return. Half of the houses across the street from her own had been utterly destroyed, scorched and dilapidated to the earth…

Not Vasili’s though. She soon discovered that he and his family had escaped in the nick of time, possibly fleeing to the shore.

Alex reasoned he must have made it out on a ship after all. She tried very hard not to be bitter at him for leaving her behind. After all, what choice had he had?

 

Fotini and Alexandra still said their prayers every night, even though at times they felt they were in vain. Mama had been a firm believer in God before the accident. She still held a hesitant belief after Papa died, but after that fateful night, all faith and trust was lost. The family had always been members of the local Greek Orthodox Church, so Alex and Fotini would attend mass when their mother felt too ill. This was quite often, as Mama rarely attended anyway due to her lack of faith—when she did, it was only to maintain a decent reputation in the community.

She remembered that one morning in October, 1922, over three years later-- when she’d said that the light blinded her, even though the sun had not yet reached its high point in the sky. She said that they had to go alone that day. Alex had held Mama’s hand before leaving for church—it was ice cold. The look in her eyes was so blank. If there was a God, she didn’t know how He could be so cruel.

Of course, Alex was the one who hadn’t cried in years. She’d no idea how she could be so emotionless either. Did she truly care that little for Mama? For Papa’s death and Vasili’s departure? 

 

Even after Mama had fallen asleep again and the girls had dressed for church, Alex sat and idly fiddled with Mama’s necklace until it was time to go to services. Mama loved that necklace—Papa had given it to her on her birthday before his death later that year. Now it was her closest reminder of him.  
As they left the house, Alex thought back to the era of ancient heroes—heroes and gods who would never have let anyone suffer so if it was not for a purpose.

“Just myth,” Fotini reminded her sister once again as they made their way quietly to morning Mass.

Luckily, they hadn’t far to walk from home. Ever since the incident with Mama, the girls were both terrified to leave the house night or day. After all, the men were away at war, so what could a bunch of elders, women and children do if the enemy decided to pirate a bit?

“Do you really believe there’s only one God, though?” Alex asked. “No heroes, only one God who gives everyone the same gifts and abilities? No miracles…”

Fotini laughed dryly in a way that made Alex shiver, though it was quite warm out. 

“No, Alex,” she said, “no heroes. All men, most of them evil. Heroes were created by people like Mama—and people like us. Those who were too frightened to face the truth: that what they had known in life was all there was to know. No one’s favored, things don’t happen for a reason—it’s utter chaos. That’s one part of myth I believe. The universe began as chaos and just never reformed itself. There are certainly no miracles. The only hope you have is the hope you search for and create yourself. Sometimes, though, people are lucky and good things happen. But it’s only by chance, not fate.”

Alex was confused. This seemed to her the exact definition of a miracle. Now was the time she supposed for Fotini to tell her that she was too young to understand. She said this a lot, particularly when discussing Mama’s accident.

For instance, why was she still so weak from it after nearly three years had passed? Fani had explained that Mama had been scarred so deeply that she would probably never heal. So Alex decided to let this one go.

“But yes,” her sister continued and Alex winced, “there is only one God. And He is cruel. He showed favoritism to no one, save Jesus. And where did Jesus end up? He got himself killed, just like the rest of men.”

Alex considered this. It seemed plausible because if there were more than one God, wouldn’t that mean that at least one of them cared about the well-being of humanity? As of now, it seemed that whoever watched from above could not care less—and no one had the power to oppose His apathy. Still, Fotini had always been the optimistic one in their family. Her recent behavior was beginning to frighten Alexandra. She supposed her sister was just afraid for Mama, as was she.

“I wish Papa would come home from heaven,” Alex sighed as she plucked an olive off of the twisted tree under which they tread, “or wherever he is now.”

“Don’t eat that, Alex,” warned her sister, “could have tiny insects on it that make you sick.”

Alex didn’t drop it on the ground but hurried and tucked it into her pocket for later.

After that, she refrained from questioning her sister further but instead briefly glanced over at her as she walked. She was just a few hairs taller than Alex with a slightly longer neck and straighter hair of about the same color. Both girls had their father’s dark hair and eyes but Alex had been cursed with uncontrollably frizzy hair. Uncle Dimitri called it a mark of her Mediterranean heritage—both Alex and Fani called it the natural enemy of the hairbrush.

“You should really cut it,” Fotini was insisting more and more often.

 

That evening, Alex took to the roof thatch to sleep. She usually didn't indulge without her sister, though tonight - somewhat guiltily - Alex decided she needed some space. She was feeling more restless than ever as of late. In the back of her mind, she always wondered if it could be her mother's illness. Following the death of their grandfather years earlier, the girls had heard talk of how their mother was...different. She'd never known her own mother and their father had explained that had made her distant somehow. 

In fact, mama’s condition stopped her having more children after Alex. The woes after birth had proven too much following a second child. While most families in the village, including Vasili’s had at least four children, George had only his two girls.

Though they all loved Mama dearly. That's why Alexandra always felt like her father understood them in a way Mama could not. Or didn't care to. After all, Papa's parents had also passed away and he always seemed fine. But then, he had their uncle, Dimitri.   
Still, just to play it safe, Alex tried her best to keep quiet about her love of mythology and anything that could be viewed as make-believe. As much as she cared for her mother, she'd no desire for others to see her as sharing the same illness.


	3. Of Ragdolls and Rooftops

Several hours after Mass that day, Uncle Dimitri came to visit. 

Alexandra was so happy to see him that she nearly wept. Fotini actually did shed a few tears. Even Mama left her bedroom to greet him. It was their uncle Dimitri—exhausted and dirty, but smiling. He embraced them all and asked how they’d been getting along. He’d come by shortly after their mother’s accident, but he could only stop when stationed in the area. This wasn’t too infrequent, given that Thrace was a vulnerable point of attack for the enemy and needed to be guarded as strongly as possible. They hadn’t seen him since then. 

Alex loved her uncle. He was brave, strong—not Papa, but the closest thing after him. And he was a war hero. He was already known for defeating two large Turkish armies along the coast in the past year alone. Every family needed a guardian with Dimitri’s stamina and gaiety. Even in the most difficult of times, he always seemed so light-hearted.

He greeted their mother first, as always.

“Euadne, it’s been a while,” he said with a cheerful yet gentle embrace for Mama, “have your girls been looking after you all right?”

“Learning from me,” replied their mother, “for I taught them the art of mothering.”

“And what a model they had,” Dimitri smiled. Then he turned to Alex. Such was rare, as the eldest child usually received the next greeting, but Dimitri was well aware of his brother’s special relationship with Alex before his passing—they had understood each other so well, even more than her mother seemed to understand her. He felt that he now had an obligation to fill her father’s position whenever the opportunity arose.

“How’s my little lady, Alexandra?” he asked, sweeping her up for a kiss and then setting her back down gently. His embrace felt so much like Papa’s when he used to take her in his arms. “Getting along in school, I expect?”

Alex chuckled inwardly. She was nearly fifteen and still he called her his “little lady”.

“Yes, Uncle,” she replied with a grin, “as much as I can. School’s only open on the good days.” The “good days” were the days without the constant threat of attack. The enemy targeted places of large population, such as schools, markets, inns, hospitals…they hadn’t had a “good day” for nearly a month.

“Ah, yes,” he sighed, “the good days. And how is my other lady? Becoming a fine woman already. You’re taking after your mother, I see.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dimitri,” Mama scolded albeit softly, “she’s but a child. Just turned seventeen this past spring.”

That was their mama, trying to keep them her little girls forever. Alex supposed that sometimes she worried that when she and Fani grew older and married, she’d be left all alone. But she and Fani had every intention of keeping her in their lives, no matter what. Anyway, the mere mention of someone “becoming a woman” always frightened their mother now. Without Fotini or Alex working, the family’s sole income now came from Dimitri’s military service.

“We keep on all right,” replied Fotini with a gentle smile that she hoped would ease the growing tension, “Alex tends to the dishes and the flowers, and I do the wash and cook the meals. Mama suggests lovely new colors for the walls and enjoys helping us paint and make new dolls and such. In fact, did you show Uncle the doll you made this month? Cassandra?”

“Oh, yes, Cassandra,” Alex remembered, “Here she is.” She pulled out her newest rag doll from her front pocket and held her out for Dimitri to examine.

“Very careful stitching,” he admired, “does she keep you company at night?”

“Every night,” she replied, “and every day.”

“Very good. We all need someone to keep us company, these days.”

“And of course, Alex has her sister,” her mother chimed in, “they’ve moved in together. Can’t be sleeping alone these god-awful nights.”

“True, true,” agreed Dimitri. “Well, ladies, as much as I’d like to stay, I best be getting off. My men are going to want a fresh supply of water soon and I have to check with the scouts to see about any approaching armies. But I should be back soon and in the meantime, I’ll send word when I can about the next supply of drachma. Take care of yourselves till then. Look after each other.”

So they said their goodnights and soon, it was just the women again. Alone in their house and the quiet of the evening.

That night, Alex sat up late with Fotini on the roof and watched the stars come out. How vast and cold the night sky looked. And it never changed. There was no moon that night, so the stars seemed a bit brighter.

“Fani,” Alex asked,” what’s that line of three stars that you see when you’re not really looking straight at them, but more to the side?”

“That’s a part of the Bear and the Wagon,” replied her sister, “only I’m not sure which part.”

“Hmm.” They’d learned about the Bear and the Wagon in school. It was part of their galaxy, the Milky Way, but she didn’t remember much else about it. It had only been discovered a short time ago, anyway. Alex hugged Cassandra closer to her chest to keep herself warm.

Then something else caught her eye. “How about that bright white star over there?” Alex pointed to the right of the three little stars, at a much larger and brighter star than any of the others.

“That’s Hermes,” replied Fotini, “he’s bright this time of year.”

Alex thought it peculiar that she had referred to Hermes as a “he” when she claimed not to believe at all in the myths.

Alexandra heaved a gentle sigh and lay back on her shawl. She suddenly felt quite tired.

“Good night, Fani,” she said with a yawn. Alex turned over and pulled her shawl around herself.

“Night, Alex.”

After a short while, Alexandra returned to her former position so that her face was bathed in the soft caress of the starlight.


	4. The Shepherd on the Hill

Alexandra awoke near dawn from a terrible nightmare. 

She had been on the coast of the Aegean Sea. Papa was there and so were Uncle Dimitri and Vasili. Papa—whose face had already begun to fade from her memory.

Her mother and sister were already in the water. Alex was about to jump off a high rock into the sea and join Mama and Fotini in the water when she heard her Uncle call, “Hey Alex! Turn around! Your father wants to see his little girl’s face before he has to go.”

Startled, Alex spun around and prepared to leap into her father’s arms and beg him not to leave them again. But Papa and Vasili were gone. And Dimitri was no longer her uncle—he had grown to the height of a house and his body was covered in eyes. Argos?

How silly, she must be dreaming. Argos was just myth, everyone knew that.

“It's not real,” Alexandra breathed.

“Oh, but this is anything but a dream…” Argos grinned gleefully, all of his eyes squinting upwards. They were her uncle’s eyes, all right—she recognized the familiar crease around the eyes on his face. Only now he’d become a monster…

“Such a pretty little girl,” he cooed taking a step towards her, “Why do you look so frightened? We’re all here for you, all of us. Watching you—so that you’ll never, ever leave.”

Frantically, she turned to the sea—which was now bubbling lava. Fotini, Mama and Vasili were nowhere to be seen. But she didn’t want to be eaten alive, so she jumped….

That was when she’d awoken in a cold sweat. Taking deep breaths to calm her racing heart, she glanced over and saw that Fani was still asleep. She really wanted to talk to her about the dream, but it would have to wait till after dawn, she supposed. So she got dressed into her usual pale violet summer dress and sandals which she’d kept beside her from the previous night, re-braided her hair with the tie around her wrist, and kissed her sister goodbye, careful not to wake her.

Slowly and quietly, she climbed down the trellis and after reaching the bottom, gazed out towards the first signs of daylight. The sun hadn’t exactly begun to rise yet, but the eastern horizon was tinted with a bright combination of purple and gold.

Breathing in a deep sigh, she caught a faint whiff of the ever-present sea breeze. They had a gull here and there, but weren’t close enough to the shore to go swimming all that often.

That was when a lone hen plodded across the dirt path by her feet. Odd. Did they usually travel alone? 

Suddenly, the hen fluttered its wings and took off on a low glide along the path. 

For some reason, Alex had the overbearing urge to break into a run. She couldn’t identify the source of the urge— she just felt the need to be free. More free than she was now.

It was well before the streets would come alive for the day and she had a feeling that not even the armies in the area had awoken yet. God willing, none of the enemy was near.

“Mama, forgive me,” she whispered, and took off down the winding path towards the distant shore.

The hen had flown out of sight.

Miraculously, the cannons were silent this morning.

Alexandra could not describe how it felt to run. Indeed, it had been a good several months since she’d had the chance to run more than a few meters. They mostly stayed indoors since the war began. She had grown to miss the past days of joy and play. The days when her papa came home every evening from the fish market, when Mama cared for nothing more than her family and her lovely pottery. She no longer had the energy to make much pottery, so Alex had tried taking up the art herself. It hadn’t taken long to realize however, that she hadn’t inherited her mother’s skill. 

Still, a few of her better attempts adorned the ledges on their windows. The largest pot she’d made yet stood beside Mama’s collection by the kitchen table. Even Fotini—forced to become a responsible adult at the age of fourteen—had played with her and the other neighborhood children on many an afternoon. Now Alex’s family rarely saw their neighbors anymore.

Although she had never particularly cared for school, Alex often caught herself wishing it would be in session again, just for something to do. She was no good at knitting and even reading began to feel lonesome after a while. 

But still, it was her favorite activity and she much preferred it to sewing or cooking—with reading, mistakes were impossible and Alex was happy to avoid her sister’s criticism as much as possible. So she favored artistic activities such as writing and drawing when she wasn’t in the mood for ceramics or pottery. Her other love was language but she’d long since exhausted the house’s supply of Latin and English basic texts which they’d kept from school and couldn’t afford any more at the moment.

But there was always something to read, it seemed—a novel or two, mostly fiction. She had always loved mythology—it had always been her favorite subject in school—and it was always somewhat of a let down to return to the real world after a nice session of reading. Fotini had tried to get her into cooking, but cookbooks seemed a bore compared to epic stories of Olympus and their country of old. Not to mention that she had absolutely no culinary talent…

Alex had been on the go for what seemed like only a few moments when she heard the cry of a gull. She was drawing closer to the water.

Alex stopped for breath then and that was when the olive fell out of her pocket. She realized she had forgotten that little olive after Dimitri’s visit the night before. After she’d stopped and picked up the tiny morsel, her gaze was suddenly drawn to the grassy hill before her. It wasn’t a hill, really—more a small mountain. It struck her as odd that she hadn’t noticed it before, but perhaps that was because there hadn’t been sheep grazing atop it the last time she’d visited the sea. Back then, it had just been one of the many hills surrounding the coast—only a bit higher and wider than the others.

The sun had just risen a bit over the horizon, casting a partial light upon the hill so that only its top half was in full daylight. Feeling a bit chilled, Alex decided to take a walk up the hill to warm up a bit—take some time alone to think before returning to feed Toula and help cook breakfast.

Alex breathed in a sigh of fresh salty air. The beautiful sea sparkled far below, its clear blue waters barely seeming to move from this distance. It extended out to as far as she could see. How majestic the sun’s bright reflection played out across the water, like a sort of pathway from the seashore to salvation…

The morning heat felt thick on her skin as she trudged up the worn path to the top of the hill, waving idly at the small clouds of gnats that had emerged with the rising sun. While she much preferred the early fall to the rains of winter and spring, the stickiness did grow irritating at times.

As she continued her trek, she idly wondered in the back of her mind how long people had used this path—how many other feet had plodded along where hers did now. 

She’d just entered the sunny part when she realized that there were not only sheep grazing around her, but goats and cattle as well. Somewhere nearby, she heard the soft tinkling of a lyre. It seemed to be coming from further up the hill.

Alex only had a few yards to go before she could stand and look out over the eastern half of the village below and the water beyond. In front of her stood a lone olive tree, much older and larger than the one from which she’d plucked her olive. Its long roots extended all the way out to where she stood, some of the surrounding animals lounging between them. She’d never seen so many different animals grazing in one area before. One lamb and a few goats scampered around the massive trunk as if in play. Alex had to step to the side a bit to avoid being bumped by one of them. Were they all wild game?

“No worries,” said the voice from behind her, “they’re with me. Quite docile creatures, the lot of them.”

Alexandra slowly turned to see a young shepherd standing a few yards away, holding a goat kid in his arms. His face was partially obscured by shadow, the arriving sunlight making his body appear as an outline against the morning sky. He looked to be about the same age as Fani, at most.

“With you?” Alex asked hesitantly.

There was something oddly familiar about his face. The light bronze skin, the dark hazel eyes, his mahogany curls…

“Yes, I’m their shepherd.”

“You look after all of them?”

“I have a careful eye,” he replied. “Every morning, I let my animals graze on this lovely hill. Just before dawn—we come out here to watch the sunrise.”

“Do you live near by?”

“Mm, you could say that. I move around often. My errands take me to many different places.”

“Interesting,” Alex mused, “So, how come you watch so many different animals?”

“It helps, you know,” he offered, “to let such different creatures roam together, live together. Some can without much scuffle—some cannot. Unfortunate turn of events in Thrace these days. In all of Greece, for that matter. It just shows that men can rarely live together without scuffle. Say, what have you got there?”

“It’s an olive,” Alex answered, suddenly realizing that she’d been rolling it around between her fingers the whole time they’d been talking, “I picked—I found it yesterday, a fallen one on my way to morning Mass with my sister.” 

That was close. It was bad luck to pick olives if not for oil or food. She did plan to eat hers, but not yet.

“Found it, hmm? Just picked it up?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied rather smoothly, “I like olives. To eat, I mean. I don’t often gather them, though. My sister shops for groceries when the market’s open, while I tend to the flowers and pottery. I make all of our pottery now ever since Mama fell ill…” 

She stopped. Why was she pouring out her life story to this stranger?

“I see. What a sad journey war is, often saddest for those who aren’t out fighting. But as you mentioned it, I am quite partial to olives, myself. I help them grow, you know.”

“What?”

“I do. All the trees all over this land, I planted. They all grew from tiny seeds. Even the masterpiece which stands before you. That one was a straggler in its youth, but it’s grown up to be quite a sight, if I do say so myself.”

“Uh,” she started, “it looks rather old. Or is it sick?”

“No, your first guess. Just aged.”

“How old?”

“Mmm…about a century now, maybe more.”

Alex chuckled lightly. “Oh, that’s lovely. So, it’s been in your family a while. Did your grandfather plant it?”

“No,” he replied, “I did.”

“But—you’re…”

“Not that old?” he laughed quietly. “You’d be surprised. Time passes smoothly for me. I’m not so prone to the strain of the weather.”

“But you’d have to be—wait. Are you really a shepherd? No, you’re a sorcerer in disguise, aren’t you? Or are you a spy for the enemy?”

“I come from a land above here, on a mountain far higher than this one.”

“So,” she started, “you’re not a Turk?”

He laughed rather loudly at this, almost causing Alex to start. “No, madam,” he replied with a smile, “I’m not a Turk.”

“So, who are you then?” she was still nervous but growing slightly impatient as well.

“You might already know, in fact,” he said nonchalantly, stroking the neck of the young goat he held, “I’m sure you’ve heard of me quite often, for that matter. Just perhaps not in Mass.”

“So, you are some sort of sinner?”

“Not at all. I consider myself to be quite pure. It’s just that…” he glanced up from the kid with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “not many know of me around these parts anymore. I come only when I feel the need, when someone requires assistance or…guidance. But those few whom I do visit rarely know me by name. They all think me to be a spy or magician as you have guessed.”

“What is your name?” she asked, utterly intrigued by this point.

“You’re a smart girl,” the young man replied, “I’m sure you can find out yourself. I must go for now, I’m afraid. It has been a pleasant conversation, though I do hope it’s not a habit for the young girls of Ainos to be up at this hour.”

“I-I was restless. Nightmare, couldn’t sleep.” She suddenly felt eager to change the subject, lest her rambling keep her up here forever. “Will I see you again?” Of all things, why had she asked that?

“Indeed you shall. But until then, keep a look out. Hopefully, you’ll have realized who I am by the time we cross paths again.”

Realized?

“All right,” Alex answered, amazed that she’d managed that much without stuttering dumbly. What was it about this boy that made her so anxious? He was just a shepherd, like many others in the village. Albeit one who enjoyed teasing about his age.

“But how about you give me back that olive?”

Alexandra stared at him. “Why?”

“I’ll give you something better. Something that doesn’t shrivel up with time.”

“Like what?”

“Let’s just say,” his eyes had that twinkle again, “it’ll stick with you a long time. And it can keep you company along with that doll of yours.” He carefully shifted the kid to his other arm as he reached out for the little fruit.

It occurred to Alex that in all her ramblings thus far, never had she mentioned Cassandra. Hesitantly, she placed the olive in the young man’s outstretched hand. His fingers closed over it, lightly brushing hers in the process.

“So long for now, Alexandra,” the shepherd continued, “Good luck till next we meet. And don’t worry—you won’t be having any more nightmares. Let’s put Argos to sleep, shall we? You’ll be in control of your dreams from now on.

“Now, watch out for your family as well as for yourself. In times like these, one must support the decisions of loved ones, no matter how deviant they seem. Your sister will make a choice soon that may seem odd to you, perhaps even dangerous but you will have a hand in the outcome. Consider that my first message.” 

Message?

With that, he turned and began to saunter back down the other side of the hill.

One by one, all the animals including those who had been resting, rose to follow his lead. She stood slightly baffled as the last lamb made its way down the hill after the others into the sunrise. Shielding her eyes against the rising sun, Alex wondered briefly if she might still be dreaming, but something told her it wasn’t so. This was all very real. Just very odd. She was certain that she had never told him her name. He was a stranger and yet he’d known about her doll and her name.

Alex was all too aware of how alone she was then and how she longed to be back at home. Fani would be awake by now and get worried, knowing her sister. Glancing back up at the great olive tree one last time, Alexandra turned to go when she noticed something at the base of its trunk…a green rock? She walked closer. No, a tortoise. Had it been there all along? So far from water? Then she remembered the shepherd’s promise of a gift—a creature whose life would be long. She knew tortoises to live about a century. 

How grand!

Alexandra wandered over and scooped up the tortoise, then turned and sprinted carefully back down the hillside towards home. She had not gone very far before hearing again the gentle song of the lyre.


	5. Faces in the Shadows

Fotini awoke to find her sister gone. 

“Alex?” she called sleepily after rolling over to find herself alone on the roof thatch. Sitting up slowly, she began to collect the blankets and fold them back up.

After climbing down the trellis and returning to the ground, she called again. “Alex! Alexandra, come on, answer me! Come now, time to make breakfast!”

That’s when she heard a faint giggling. Turning around, Fotini gasped as her sister seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

“Look, Fani,” Alex held out a tortoise for her sister to see, “I’ve decided to call him Aión, because he’ll live forever.”

“Alex, what are you going on about?” Fotini asked, sensible as always. “A tortoise is a living thing; no living things live forever. Where did you find him, anyway?”

“It was a gift,” Alex explained.

“Now you know it’s not safe to go out alone, especially early in the morning like this or any other time when so few people are around. Who did you meet who gave you such a gift?”

“A shepherd. He was quite young. He said that he planted all the olive trees in Greece. The keeper of olives. He asked for my olive and gave me Aión in return.”

“Oh, what nonsense! A shepherd who grows olive trees? Oh, Alex, what is it with you and your trust? Accepting a gift from a stranger?”

“Come on, Fani, it’s not a beast or anything.”

“Well, you’re right,” Fotini admitted, “but it can’t stay. It needs salt water.”

“We can keep him in the wash basin. I’ll set him in there once I’ve changed the tub water each morning. And besides, most tortoises don’t need salt water. We learned that in school. They’re not sea creatures.”

“Well—all right, but just be sure you keep him out of mother’s way.”

The rest of the day passed without much incident. Fotini read to her mama while Alexandra tended to the window flowers and decorated the washbasin in which Aión would live.

“I don’t know who he was,” she told the watchful tortoise as she brushed a stroke of lavender around the rim of the large pot, “If only you could speak and tell me. This shepherd—so young, yet he spoke like a grandfather. I wish Fani wasn’t so uptight and scared all the time, like Mama. I don’t like it, all this fear. Why can’t everyone be calm and peaceful like you?” 

She finished her question with a smear of blue which she rubbed into the vague shape of a flower while her little pet stretched out his wrinkly neck and observed her in silence.

That night, there arrived word of an approaching army of Turks, planning to take out yet another small Thracian city. As they neared the village, the local Greek armies stationed throughout the streets prepared to fend them off.

Behind locked doors, Mama wept quietly on the divan while Alex held her hand and Fotini sat mending a sock on the window seat. Long ago, the two girls had learned that, when not comforting their mother, it was wisest to busy themselves with chores and petty tasks rather than let the fear eat away at them.

Apparently, some of the houses on the eastern side of Ainos had already caught fire in the last month, so Fotini thought it lucky that over on the west side the houses weren’t built so close together. Hopefully, their neighborhood would be spared….

The cavalry arrived a bit later than expected—too late to back up their fellow troops in Ainos. When the captain took in the sight of slaughtered soldiers from both sides, he called to his army to halt. Strewn before them for half a mile were fallen horses and both Greek and Turkish men. The humidity in the air was already beginning to make the putrid smell of blood unbearable.

The young soldier near the back of the troop glanced down at his horse’s mane, patting her silky hair. They’d been through so much together—he wasn’t sure how much more he could stand.

“Don’t worry, girl,” he soothed, “I won’t let us fall like that.” He turned around slightly then, certain he’d heard something like a rustling not far behind them.

“Men,” called the Captain, “it’s approaching dark. I think we have a better chance to take them by surprise if we press on rather than stopping for rest. I know you’re all tired, but we’re nearly to the coast. It shan’t be much longer before victory is ours, I can feel it!”  
Despite audible groans at walking through the sea of death before them, the soldiers nudged their horses’ flanks and proceeded at a steady gait.

From there, it all happened in a flash. The last man of the troop let out a blood-curdling shriek as a knife hit its target between his shoulder blades.

At that, men from both armies let out ferocious cries as they faced each other, the ambushed men struggling to turn their horses around and face the sudden wave of assailants.

The storm of fighting passed within the next hour. A courier ran around to each of the houses, alerting the residents that it was again safe to walk the streets. Evidently, the skirmish had not been much to speak of and the Greeks had done well in preparing for the offense. Many Turks had lost their lives and the survivors had been pushed back beyond the Thracian border.

Although the sun had set, Fotini decided to take a walk. Mama had fallen asleep so Alex had guided her to her bed and Fani asked her sister to watch the house while she was gone. She simply had to get away for a short while—to leave the house and take a walk in the fresh air, to clear her head.

So Alexandra agreed to look after everything and make sure that Mama didn’t find out about her nightly walk. Still, Fotini's own fears were kindled when she caught sight of her sister’s hands shaking as she watched Fani step out into the night.

The first thing she did after shutting the door quietly behind her was take a deep breath to calm herself. There was a half moon tonight and the pale glow on her face soothed her worries a bit. The night seemed quiet enough and all she had to do was run straight back home if she saw any smoke rising or heard anything that sounded like soldiers.

The night air was relatively humid and even the occasional cool breeze did nothing to lift the invisible blanket of warmth. Fotini found it rather annoying to breathe on these types of nights and she expected that this stifling atmosphere must be somewhat similar to what Mama faced whenever she tried to breathe at all—or perhaps even live. Now that she was old enough to be considered an adult, Fotini knew something of the shame and anguish which resulted from rape—the notion that it had happened to her own mother caused bile to rise in her throat and tears to fill her eyes. Mama would never be the same because of it and yet how could she or Alex expect her to be? 

Of course, Fotini knew of the ways of intercourse and all, but she herself had never engaged in it, particularly not after Mama’s accident. Indeed, it now frightened her to even speak to a strange man. In a way, she was envious that Alex was so innocent and happy-go-lucky…so much like Fotini had once been. Although it was obvious that caring for their mother and seeing her deteriorate day after day had taken its toll on Alex, Fotini was mesmerized by her little sister’s maintenance of hope.

Just then, the church bell chimed in the distance, calling the hour. Fotini had no idea as to the actual time but she supposed it was somewhere around midnight. The village was asleep, grateful to be safe again for the time being.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Fani was reminded of a story her mother had once told Alexandra. Well, it wasn’t a story really, more of a nightmarish rant. Ever since her accident, Mama had started seeing things—terrible, horrifying things. It was one night when she awoke screaming that she’d been to the kitchen for some pita and had opened the pantry to find a brutish beast with five heads—the heads of the men who attacked her atop the necks and body of a monster. Before Alex could calm her, Mama had continued about how the creature was over 10,000 years old and waited in the closets of houses to feast upon innocent women.

“ ‘They do it because they know that they are feared so much that no one and nothing will dare try to stop them from taking what they want,’ ” Alex had quoted her mother the morning after. Although Fani would never admit it, the story frightened her as much as it had her sister. And yet she knew that Alex saw plainly just how much she was afraid. It had always been a strange gift of her sister’s to be able to see beyond masks and pretense. She saw the truth in everyone and everything and yet still tried to make light of it—even though Fotini struggled to appear strong and sensible, she often nearly broke down in her sister’s comforting presence. 

But she knew that it was her duty as the eldest to protect Alexandra as much as possible from the potential suffering life caused. With their mama no longer there to shield her youngest, it was now up to Fotini…

That was when she heard it—a faint rustle as if someone was moving around on the side of the road. Fotini started to increase her pace when the clinking stopped and was replaced by a rather loud moan. She froze. Whoever lurked in the shadows either didn’t know she was there or didn’t care because they weren’t trying very hard to remain unnoticed.

What if it was a wounded soldier from Thrace? Perhaps they knew him from school or church? Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to check and make sure…

“Hello?” Fotini called in a voice barely above a whisper. When no response came save for what sounded like someone struggling to breathe, she tried again: “Hello? Are you hurt?”

“Help me, please…they took my horse.” It was the strangled voice of a young man. He seemed to speak with an odd accent, but perhaps his words were just slurred from weakness.

After a few moments, Fotini replied, “All right, it’s all right. I’ll help you. Can you stand? Try to come to me.”

She was trying to avoid getting too close but when he tried to get up only to collapse again, she realized that she was going to have to take some chances. Taking a deep breath, she crept over to the struggling form of the young man and felt over his head and down to his back until she found his shoulders and took hold of his arm, pulling him gently to his feet. He was whimpering quietly—from pain, she figured judging from the expression on his face once she managed to move him out onto the street where the moonlight shone.

As she slowly guided him back the way she’d come, she turned and tried to examine him as best she could. He didn’t look familiar from what she could make out. His clothes were those of a soldier, like Papa and Dimitri wore—they were filthy, his shirt bloody and a bit torn as if slashed by a knife. He had a nasty gash across his left cheek as well and his posture denoted some sort of belly wound. His green eyes glowed a bit in the moonlight, but his hair was very dark, as was his skin—a swarthy olive, as dark as Dimitri’s.

Once they reached home, Alex had put Mama to bed and was now sound asleep herself, so Fotini motioned to the soldier to be as quiet as possible as she spread out her shawl on the floor beneath her bed and helped him to lie down.

Everything after that went by in a kind of blur. Fotini retrieved a moist cloth from the washbasin outside their bedroom and cleaned the soldier’s face with it. Then, she let him drink from the bowl of water that she and Alex shared at night.

“You can bathe if you like—but I expect you are too weak right now,” Fotini said all too quickly, “Rest now. I regret that we have no medicine to help your wounds. Just try to rest and breathe slowly. This is what my mother does when she feels sick. You must sleep for now under my bed. I’ll give you the top quilt on my bed and our extra pillow.”

“Thank you,” said the soldier quietly once she had provided him with his comforts and he’d lain down. “You are very kind.” 

Beneath the perspiration, he smelt oddly of cinnamon or some such sweet herb.

Again, she was struck by his strange accent. She must ask him later from what part of Greece he came. But now, she just crawled into bed and curled up. She’d barely spoken to the boys at school and now she had brought one home. She didn’t even know him! But for some reason, she felt it was a better idea to have taken him in than just let him die alone in the dark.

Meanwhile, Alexandra crept through the shadows of the dark house. She didn’t quite remember what she’d woken for but she felt a little thirsty and reasoned that she’d probably gone to the washroom. But how had she ended up in the kitchen?

Then, her attention was drawn to the broom closet as a slight creaking escaped from behind the door. Slowly, she made her way over and opened the door which had stood ajar. How had that happened? Mama had told Dimitri to bolt it shut when he’d come to visit a couple of years before because of the beast she’d dreamt about. Cautiously, Alex peered inside…

Beyond the door stood what appeared to be a large, dark cave. Alex glanced around to see cobwebs strewn across tree branches which seemed to grow out from the surrounding walls. Finding herself at the top of a staircase, she proceeded to descend, keeping her footfalls as quiet as possible. 

It wasn’t until she reached the bottom that she heard what sounded like a heavy breathing, from somewhere deeper in the cave. She couldn’t see anything; the only light was cast from the slightly open door at the top of the stairwell from where the moonlight shone into the house. Taking another step forward, Alex heard something move from up above and pulled back just as the skeleton came rattling to the ground. Alexandra’s breath caught as she saw that the cadaver wore her mother’s necklace.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Alex focused on her surroundings to help clear her mind and prepared to try and find a way out. She could still see the ray of moonlight from above but she could no longer tell from which direction it shone…

Just then, Alex’s heart stopped for a second time as her left foot stepped off into oblivion. Reeling backwards, she nearly lost her balance—down below was a vast abyss that swallowed up the tiny stones that had slipped from under Alex’s foot. She didn’t hear them hit the bottom. Slowly, Alex backed away from the dark rim and started back in the direction from whence she’d come.

Soon, she began to grow restless from the sickly sweet smell of rotten meat. She was also faintly aware of water dipping all around from up above, an occasional drop landing somewhere nearby. Walking further into the strange chamber, Alexandra’s foot hit something. She bent down to find a small purse. Aión gazed up at her from beside the little cloth bag.

“Now where did you come from?” Alex wondered aloud. “I thought I’d put you back into the washbasin for the night.” She soon turned back to the purse in her hands. “What have we here?” Opening the purse, she took in a sharp breath at the sight of the glittering gold coins.

“Beware—it is drawn towards gold.”

Alex looked down to see the tortoise blink. The little reptile had indeed just spoken to her. This must be yet another dream. They grew tiresome after a while…because she knew that the frightening part was bound to come soon. They always began so innocently and then became dreadful….

As if on cue, the hoarse breathing which she’d been trying to ignore grew louder and a low growling erupted from the darkness. When Alexandra looked up, her gaze was met by five pairs of glowing green eyes. The giant beast emerged slowly from the shadows, two of its heads sensing the air with black snake-like, forked tongues.

Alex’s first thought was Aión. But as she went to scoop him up, one of the heads of the beast lunged down and snatched him up in its mouth. The sudden motion caused Alexandra to fall backwards, gold coins scattering all over the floor. She glanced up yet again only to find the head that had devoured her tortoise leaning in for her, its fangs smeared with blood. Broken pieces of shell fell all around her from between the creature’s jaws.

Without another thought, Alex scrambled to her feet and began running as fast as she could back towards the stairwell. However, she’d gone only a few yards when she realized that the glow from above was too far off to the right. How had she gotten turned around? How large was the cavern? Hearing the monster’s footsteps draw closer, Alex picked up speed and leaped forward only to almost topple over the edge of the great chasm. 

Righting herself and backing away from the ledge from which loose pebbles still clattered over the edge, Alex suddenly had an idea. She’d never fancied herself very clever in the thick of danger but she decided that any plan seemed good right about now…

Voicing a silent prayer in her mind, Alex turned to face the beast which was now practically upon her and let out a scream as she dodged at the last moment between its legs. With a hideous roar, the hydra fell over the ledge into the abyss below.

As its bellow grew more distant, Alex actually felt thankful for the fearsome reaches of the dark cavern and started to run again towards the pool of light. She soon had to stop for breath, a move that she probably should have kept till later—

The beast was on her again so fast that she had no time to react. It lunged at her, sending her back onto the floor. How had it risen from the pit? Alex’s question was answered when two magnificent and yet ghastly translucent wings spread as the creature readied itself for an attack.

“No!” Alexandra screamed as she scooted back frantically. She swore she could hear the beast cackling insanely as it loomed over her, hot breath which smelt of rotting flesh washing over her face.

Just then, there was a flash of gold and the monster’s head was sent soaring into the darkness. Alex suddenly had a brief memory of how her mama had looked after the accident—her face had been bloody in places as well from the small knife wounds she’d endured during her attack. A squeal of terror came from several of the other mouths of the beast and soon the same figure with the golden weapon had sliced off two more heads. Alexandra scrambled to her feet and ran backwards a few yards so she could get a better look. It was him—the shepherd from the day before. And he was flying…

As he drove his staff-like weapon into the monster’s heart, she realized what it was. The kerykeion--his herald staff--completely devoid of blood as though a simple touch from it had caused the beast’s head to soar off.

Alexandra’s breath caught as she stood, staring in awe up at his hovering form which was bathed almost completely in soft moonlight from the stairwell—almost as if he were glowing. It suddenly all made sense—the flock, the tortoise, the purse, the olive tree. The figure was Hermes—and he had saved her life.

“Well,” said the godling as he settled gracefully to the ground, the wings on his boots still fluttering softly, “talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was an awfully clever move on your part to keep him off your tail—I apologize for arriving so late. Oh well, I don’t expect he’ll be hiding in the closets of any more unfortunate souls. I must say I regret that you had to witness such a gruesome spectacle and find out about me so soon—no more guessing games, I suppose.”

He smiled warmly at her and she embraced him, no longer bothering to hold back her tears. Before she buried her face against his chest, she caught a glimpse of a sheathed dagger at his belt—he hadn’t even used it on the beast.

She seemed to cry forever, sobbing into the soft deep red linen of his toga, wondering somewhere in the back of her mind if she should be hugging a god when her hair was splattered with blood. It didn’t matter anymore. She cried for her father, her mother, her homeland…

The numbness had shattered at last. She was alive, he was holding her, and if this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up now.

“This is no dream,” he answered her thoughts, still holding her, “Didn’t I tell you that you’d have no more nightmares?”

 

Fotini returned to the dark bedroom she shared with Alex to find that everything was how she’d left it. Wait—something had changed…

Her sister now slept as if she’d thrown off the cover in her sleep, something which only Fotini did. Had she snuck out of bed? No, of course not, why would she?

Fani just needed some sleep. This had been her fifth trip to the washroom tonight. She’d been so restless, worrying that the soldier might try to hurt Alex or herself while they slept. But he still slept as deeply as ever, his ragged breathing the only sign of his presence. It was just the fear of men instilled in her by her mother…

Fani focused for a while on the soldier’s dark wavy hair which was in an untidy mess on his forehead. She subtly noted the contrast between his labored breathing and the gentle sighs of her sister and faintly wondered how she sounded when she slept. She wondered if she breathed softly or snored—no, she didn’t snore or Alex would have surely told her by now. 

As she climbed back under the blanket and stretched out with a small yawn, Fotini dimly regretted needing to tell her sister about the death of her little pet in the morning. Perhaps he had been a salt-water tortoise after all….

Fotini awoke early the next morning but was too apprehensive to try and fall back to sleep, so she decided to stay up and read a bit until everyone else woke up. Perhaps she’d make an early breakfast, as well?

As Fotini entered the kitchen, she was again struck with the feeling that something was out of place…

The door to the broom closet—it was ajar. But no one ever went in there now that they’d stopped storing wine in the house. Mama was afraid of the space for some reason and had locked it up a little over two years ago. They now kept the mop and broom by the counter…

She idly set some eggs on the stove and prepared some bread for breakfast.

Once back in her room, Fani shook her head, trying to focus on the situation at hand. There was absolutely no way her mother could find out about this. But what about Alex? Her sister was a people person--perhaps too much of one--so she expected that Alex would understand a little better…

“Thank you again, madam,” came a voice from behind her. 

She turned from her seat against the edge of the bed to see the young soldier staring down at her. He still looked a bit pale for his bronze-colored complexion but his voice held more strength than it had last night and considerably less discomfort. The cut on his cheekbone had already diminished to a mild red sliver.

“Oh, of course. Do you feel better?” Fotini couldn’t help moving back a bit under his stare, even thought it seemed friendly enough.

“Oh yes, thank you very much. I am surprised that you helped me at all. I expected you to perhaps kick me.” He laughed a bit and then groaned, one hand on his belly.

“Oh, take care,” Fani cautioned, standing up and bringing the water bowl to his lips once again. “But of course I did not kick you. How could you think I’d do such a thing? You nearly died for our country.”

“Our country?” he was puzzled.

“Why, yes,” Fotini remembered her question, “Where in Greece are you from? Your accent is quite different from any I’ve heard, but then I haven’t traveled further than Kavala.”

The soldier smiled but refrained from chuckling this time. “No place in Greece. I now see the mistake.” He responded good-naturedly, “My land is Anatolia.”


	6. Decisions

The following day passed by rather quickly. Fotini learned that the soldier’s name was Olcay but tried her best to avoid speaking with him further, save to ask how he was feeling and general questions of courtesy. 

She was well aware that it wasn’t right to judge a man who was wounded and hadn’t tried to harm her or her family, but—his people had ruined a part of her mother. Just for safety precautions, she even contemplated stealing away her mother’s knife to hide under her own pillow should he try anything…but then decided against it. Mama would only have hysterics if she were to find it missing.

A little later, she made up her mind that she simply couldn’t make up her own mind—and that the only other source of advice was her whimsical sister. But she couldn’t bare any more of this sneaking around if a fresh point of view revealed it as futile. So she asked Alex, who seemed surprised at first, only to be struck with an odd excitement, almost as if she’d realized something.

“I don’t see anything wrong with it,” she had said with a smile, “I mean, so long as Mama doesn’t find out.” 

Then she’d simply left to work on a new pot for the kitchen, insistent that they needed an addition to the four already in there on the windowsill. Unaware that her sister was actually crawling with nerves at the situation, Fani didn’t question her acceptance—she was just relieved that Alex had taken so well to their new guest.

So it was settled—Olcay could stay until his bruised belly healed. She was racked with guilt, of course…but then, she had made the decision to bring him home in the first place, mistaken identity or not. To tell him to leave now might anger him, and she simply couldn’t risk that.

Mama never even left her room that day except to use the washroom, so the girls didn’t have to worry much about keeping Olcay out of the way. He just did as he was told and kept out of the house as much as possible, usually reading to keep himself entertained out in the donkey pen.

Fotini still couldn’t help but wonder why it had been her that had stumbled upon him. Why her out of the entire passerby who could have been walking past? Had other Greek villagers taken in a soldier only to discover that he was of the enemy? She supposed that not many people would have been out as late as she had been but all the same it just seemed so—surreal.

“Why did someone not find you?” she had asked him that morning after a light breakfast of pita and peach preserves.

“Some medical officers walked past,” replied Olcay, “but they saw that I was from the enemy and left me there. My horse Dilara—I named her after my sister. They took her from me. I’m glad she didn’t perish.”

Fani couldn’t imagine being left to die alone in the dark and in so much pain…then she thought of something.

“How could they tell you apart from a Greek soldier?” she asked him. “Surely your cloak was too filthy for the red to show through?”

“They came over and checked my outfit,” he’d answered gently, “I could not move or speak so they took my jacket and saw my charm.” 

He gestured at the necklace he wore, a silver chain from which there hung a small crescent moon. Then he smiled again. “Not many Greeks are Muslim, I suppose. But I just feel lucky that I wasn’t wounded and abandoned sooner—or taken prisoner.”

So Fotini walked with Olcay around the house, helping him to regain his strength. Soon, she realized that speaking with him was becoming easier, the conversation less forced, particularly from her side. She soon learned that he was nineteen years old, had been studying Greek since the age of ten, and had left a mother and sister back home in Anatolia. He actually didn’t appear all that different from a Greek apart from his green eyes—she’d never seen another person with eyes so green, save for Mrs. Mokhtari, the Persian widow who lived across town and worked at her father’s market.

In turn, Fotini told Olcay of her mother’s accident and how she and Alex missed having school, and she going to work at the fish market and spending time with their neighbors. She told him of their father’s death and how Dimitri was the only one there to look after them but they never knew when he might lose his life, as well. Although she felt more comfortable around him now, Fotini still felt rather reproachful for telling this stranger about her family’s affairs, particularly when his people had caused them so much misery.

Meanwhile, Alexandra went out to the field to bury Aión. Truthfully, she was happy for an excuse to return to the sleeping spot she and Vasili had shared three years earlier. Although part of her wanted to listen to her sister when she claimed that he had simply needed salt water, Alex knew the real reason for the death of the little creature. The beast had trespassed beyond her dreams into the waking world. She just hoped that the creatures of the darkness wouldn’t impose upon her loved ones. Hermes had told her the night before that she would have no more bad dreams—that she needed her peace in sleep when it wasn’t available otherwise.

And yet the beast and Olcay’s arrival together struck her as a horrid coincidence. She simply couldn’t trust him that easily, and was frankly shocked that Phineas seemed able to.

Once she’d patted some soil over Aión’s shell, Alexandra’s attention was caught by the sweet, fluid music of the lyre. Brushing off her hands, she stood up and sprinted into his arms.

“Good evening, Alex,” he greeted as she pulled back, calling her by her play name as her sister always did, “Beautiful one it is. How did you sleep last night?” 

No animals walked beside him this time and in his hand he held a walking stick instead of a goat—in fact, he wasn’t wearing a toga or a shepherd’s attire now, but simple traveler’s clothing.

“Fine, thank you,” she replied shyly. She was torn—she wanted to ask him, needed to ask him…but she was afraid. “Her—she began, but then couldn’t bring herself to say his name “uh—it’s just that all my life, I’ve believed in one God or at least been instructed to. So I was wondering if perhaps you wouldn’t mind—well, please don’t be angry, but…”

“You’re having a difficult time believing I am who I say I am?” he finished for her. “No worries, it happens often when one is of a different faith. Do you wish me to do a little trick to show you? To show that I have only good intentions and am not working for that Devil of whom your beliefs preach?”

“Um, yes, please. If you wouldn’t mind.” How she seemed to favor humility today.

“Not at all,” he replied kindly, “I have just the idea. Your new visitor has arrived, I see.”

Alex swallowed. “Yes, the Turk. Olcay.”

“You’re frightened of him?”

“What do you think?” Alex asked, just softly enough not to sound disrespectful. She didn’t want to push her luck here. 

The young man seemed to consider. “Tell me. Do you want him gone?”

“You can do that?” Alex asked, the image of the slaughtered hydra coming to mind. 

“You can do it,” he replied simply.

“…What do you mean?”

That gleam returned to his eye as he reached into his vest and withdrew something.

Another gift? 

“Take this.” As she tentatively reached out her hand, he dropped a small vial into her palm. “Think well on it. If you truly decide you would be better off without him, put this in milk to disguise the taste and let him drink it.”

“Poison?”

“Elixir of the ancients,” he returned nonchalantly, “Hemlock.”

Alex’s breath caught. Hemlock. The poison that had killed Socrates. “Why?”

“As I said – you have a hand in this decision of your sister’s. The soldier’s presence affects you all”

“How do I know it’s truly poison?” Alex asked.

“As I recall from your Christian teachings, the hemlock plant became poisonous after growing on the hillside of Jesus’ crucifixion. By all accounts, it should do the trick.”

Though his remarks on Christian literature were accurate, he still hadn’t answered her question. 

Alexandra studied the tiny glass tube in her hand. The liquid inside looked no different from water.

When she glanced up again, she was standing alone in the field. 

 

Fotini worked rather sluggishly today. Her coworker Mrs. Mokhtari noticed.

“What’s the matter, child?” she asked kindly in her slight accent.

“We’ve made another error in the tallies,” Fani huffed.

“So it appears,” the older woman remarked, examining the parchment Fotini had handed her. “Now tell me what’s really troubling you.”

“I’m to resign at the end of the week,” Fani stated bluntly, not looking up from the fish she was gutting. 

She knew she was being rude and yet, the fact that she was quitting made her guilty enough to avoid glancing at the woman beside her.

“So we’ve heard,” replied Ms. Mokhtari gently. “I think it wise of you to dedicate your time to your family. If I had children, I would make sure to spend every moment possible with them.”

Fotini felt another pang of guilt. Mrs. Mokhtari was a widow, she knew. She had no family to speak of and had left her home in Persia.

“What’s it like, moving to a new country?” Fani wasn’t sure exactly where that had come from.

“Difficult at first, especially the boat ride over,” replied Ms. Mokhtari, returning to her own work, “When my husband passed, I was young and not allowed to re-marry. I needed a fresh start, a new beginning. So I came here. New culture, new religion. It’s not so different, however. The culture is beautiful, family-oriented, much like home. Then your father was good enough to give me work here in the market. I realized I enjoyed shop management and bookkeeping more than being a housewife anyway.”

Fotini raised an eyebrow. “That is…admirable. I always felt our culture glorified the housewife life. My mother definitely wants it for my sister and me.”

Mrs. Mokhtari chuckled. Fotini spared a glance at the older woman, taking note of her green eyes. Similar to Olcay’s, she realized. Even now, she swallowed, trying not to think of what state the house might be in when she returned. Anything that happened would be her fault and for that reason alone, Fotini couldn’t wait for the end of the week, so she could keep an eye on him fulltime until he got out of their home.

“That is your mother’s way of trying to protect you," continued the widow, "Of trying to keep you children forever. I am sure she means well. War frightens us all and your mother is ill. She feels she needs you, yes. But she should also let you live happily. To do so, you must have space to choose your own path.”

Fotini nearly laughed aloud. “You don’t think we need men to be happy?”

“A man is good for some things,” answered her companion loftily, “So long as he supports your right to choose your own way in life.”

Fani nibbled idly on her lower lip, willing away the lump that was threatening to form in her throat. That was the first time she’d heard anyone even remotely question anything her mother did or said. 

“If you could do any kind of work you wished,” began Mrs. Mokhtari, and looked over at her again, “What would you do?”

Fotini smiled and replied smoothly. “Accounting.”

“You do have quite the mind for numbers! Now come, help me with these,” Mrs. Mokhtari dumped a pile of sardines in front of Fotini. “The end of the week is a ways away, and we have work to do.”

 

Although Alexandra walked the path home as slowly as physically possible, she was lost in thoughts and managed to scatter a group of chickens, nearly dropping the vial. After a block or so, she was clutching the vial hard enough that she eventually put it in her smock pocket, fearing she’d break it.

Truly. Did she really believe he’d given her poison? She’d seen what he could do, yes. Yet this wasn’t the first time she caught herself wondering if this wasn’t all some nightmare – some delusion. 

That night, she slept with the vial under her pillow. Just as Mama did with her knife.

Fotini and Mama were fast asleep and she supposed Olcay was out in the pen. 

“Please. Please, Papa. Vasili. I don’t know what to do.”

It would be so simple to kill this man in their home. She desperately wished she knew him well enough to fairly decide if he deserved death. 

The house woke again in the middle of the night to cannons nearby. Men shouted, children shrieked and Mama began to wail quietly in her room. Alex’s body was like lead. She couldn’t move her limbs – until she remembered the vial. Grabbing the vial, she joined her sister and mother in the cellar once again.

This had to stop. She couldn’t do anything about the threat looming over their country or even their neighborhood…but she could extinguish the threat that dwelt in their home. 

When a lull in the cannon fire finally befell the village, Alexandra let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. 

After a few minutes, she steeled her resolve. Grasping the glass tube, she glanced over to make sure her mother and Fani were asleep and ascended the stairs. Just as she had on the night she was to run away with Vasili.

Making her way to the living room, Alex noticed a faint glow coming through the window. Stepping outside the front door, she stopped dead as the acrid smell of smoke hit her nose. Déjà vu struck her like harsh sunlight. 

Memories were followed by sheer horror as she realized the source of the glow. Flames. Orange, white-hot and creeping slowly along the pen. Alex’s body felt like lead once more as she watched the fire lick at the wooden posts of the donkey pen. 

Next, her ears took in the frantic baying of their donkey Toula as she thrashed around, trying to avoid the spreading flame. Once the fire devoured the pen, it would move to their house.

Alexandra’s mouth was dry and she just about jumped out of her skin when a hand grabbed her shoulder. 

Spinning her around, Olcay held up a metal bucket. Toula’s feeding trough. 

“Is there water in the washtub?”

Alex struggled to find her voice. “Y-yes.”

Was he going to enter their home again? Sure enough, Olcay bolted for the front door and Alex trailed him closely, praying that Mama and Fotini were still asleep soundly in the cellar.  


Before her eyes, Olcay dashed to the washroom and scooped out enough water from the tub to fill the large bucket to nearly full. Then walking as rapidly as possible, he pushed by her. 

“We must hurry!”

Following dumbly, Alex was relieved when he left their house again and returned to the pen, where he splashed the water meticulously over each of the largest flames, dousing out all the smaller blossoming bits of fire.

“The fire spread over from the neighboring homes,” he explained, catching his breath. “I couldn’t get to any water with your front door locked. I am sorry for barging in like that.”

Alex just stared. “Thank you,” was all she managed before turning and returning to the house, locking the door behind her.

He had saved their home. Once back in the cellar, Alex collapsed into a sleep that may have been a faint. 

 

Early the next morning, Alex still woke before the others. Fingering the vial in her pocket, she rose and made her way back up the stairs. Still the cannons hadn’t resumed. 

Once outside, she found both Olcay and Toula asleep on opposite sides of the pen, Olcay keeping to the shelter of the lip of roof hanging over the left side of the small space.

The air around her was already warm, promising an even hotter day to come. The scent of scorched wood burned her nostrils as Alex crept along the pen and began to explore the damage caused to the adjacent houses during the night. 

From what she could tell, no fewer than four houses had been badly burned.

Then she heard it. A faint whimpering. 

Following the sound, Alex ducked under a fallen wooden beam of the final house and froze. Sitting on the ground in the shadow of the ashen structure around him, there sat a man. Even with less sunlight here in the shade, she could see the severe burns on his face and down the entire right half of his body, as if he’d nearly escaped the house before the flames took him. Though it was difficult to tell at this point, she was fairly certain she had seen him around the neighborhood before.

His flesh was peeling, a combination of glistening white, reddish pink and black. She’d never seen such a sight, but was too frightened to feel sick. Once he set eyes on her, his bloodshot gaze widened and his mouth opened in a silent plea or cry of agony. Alexandra couldn’t tell which. 

She wouldn’t let him suffer. She couldn’t. 

The smell was absolutely putrid. When he fell forward onto his knees and began to reach out for her, it took all the strength Alex could muster not to bolt right there. She had considered the milk, but he barely looked like he could speak, let alone drink very much.

No, this would have to be quick. He needed it to be quick. She’d no idea how long her neighbors who’d fallen victims to fire years ago had lain in agony before death took them. She wasn’t about to let this man face the same pain any longer.

Taking the final steps toward him, Alex took the vial from her pocket and dropped to her knees. 

“Here,” she offered weakly, “You must drink this. It’s medicine. It will help you. I promise.”

Ever so slowly, she uncorked the vial and pressed it to his lips. With what must have been his last reserve of strength, he gulped the liquid rapidly. 

It wasn’t five seconds later that he began to make choking sounds. So it was true. The stuff was truly poison after all. 

When the man began foaming slightly at the mouth, Alex dropped the vial in the dirt and grasped his unharmed hand tightly as he began to paw at her front with his scarred fingers, as if grasping for air to breathe. 

The lump had barely formed in Alex’s throat before her neighbor – whose name she’d never learned – drew his final breath and slumped to the ground.

As Alexandra made her way back home, she knew beyond a doubt that she had made the right decision. And yet, that charred face would continue to haunt her for many nights to come.


	7. Message

Alexandra managed to tell Fotini of Olcay’s saving their home before he did. She simply couldn’t keep it to herself, anything to distract from thinking of their neighbor. In some ways, she also felt his actions could somehow quell the guilt they both felt for having let Olcay stay there at all. 

In particular, his good deed helped extinguish her own guilt at not having taken her chance to eradicate the risk he presented. 

When at the end of the week, Mama was asleep and Fotini still out at her final day of work, Alex again heard the tinkling of the lyre. She didn’t know where Olcay was.

“That’s a lovely ceramic piece,” she heard his voice before she even felt his presence behind her.

“Thank you,” she replied, eyes not leaving her work on the pot before her.

She almost thought she could sense his confusion at her failure to look him in the eye.

“Something the matter?”

So perhaps he couldn’t read her mind. Or was he just playing with her? 

“He’s still alive,” Alex muttered, perhaps more to herself than anyone.

“Indeed. Do you feel you made the right decision?”

“It’s done,” was all Alex returned. 

More vibes from his end – frustration, perhaps? Did he expect some sort of rash burst of emotion as he’d gotten the night he slew the hydra? She was beginning to suspect he only visited her for the satisfaction of feeling like she needed him. 

Best not to bait him, taking slow steps to stand over her as she worked. Alex continued painting. Take care not to disrespect, but don’t play into his games.

Then he spoke. “I’ve come with my second message.”

She set down her brush and spared him a simple glance, hiding her true intrigue. 

“Your Uncle Dimitri is going to be passing through these parts with his men on the night of the eighth next month. He’ll stop to see you, because his troops won’t know if they’ll survive the next fortnight. But listen carefully now—when he comes, you must do your best to persuade him to camp quietly behind the Thracian border that night and then get an early start in searching for the enemy the following dawn before sunrise. The Turkish troops won’t be planning to move out until after sunrise, so your uncle can catch them by surprise.”

Truly. This was something.

“All right, but please listen,” Alex just managed to keep the bite out of her tone, “If you are who you claim to be, I do not want to anger you, but I really love my uncle and I need to know that you are telling the truth.”

“Believe me, Alex,” his voice was smooth. “It will be the first victory for us in several months and will restore some dignity to those victims of the killings in Pontos and Armenia. You and your family have been through a great deal, Alex, but be glad that you are still alive. It saddens me to see so much death—I would never lead you astray. Now, do you think you can tell him that? Just to wait by the border? Don’t bother to try and be persuasive, just be honest and tell him that such instruction came to you in a dream shortly after you’d prayed for his safety. Oftentimes, openness and honesty works best when a man is terrified for his life and the lives of his family and men. 

“In the meantime, I’ll give you a couple of my coins to keep for luck. True, a coin is not the same as Aión, but it’ll remind you that I’m with you.” 

He reached into his vest and withdrew two shiny gold coins. The small discs glittered in the late afternoon sun as he held them out to her. Alex grasped it firmly and dropped them into the pocket of her smock.

“Thank you,” she murmured quietly.

“Don’t mention it. It’s for you to keep. And I’ll tell you what: if something does go awry with our plan, I’ll give you one hundred chests of those.” He smiled brilliantly before turning to go.

“Remember,” he called over his shoulder, “on the night of the eighth, tell your uncle to cross the border before sunrise the following morning. There, they can wait for the enemy. Have a good night now. It won’t be long till we meet again. When we do, I have a surprise for you.”

The eighth of the coming month—that was a day before Alex’s fifteenth birthday.

It was then that the realization struck her like lightning – understanding of why he looked so strangely familiar. How had she not seen it before? Everything, from his curly dark hair to that glimmer in his eye, resembled a taller, older version of Vasili. Perhaps exactly how Vasili may have looked if she saw him now…

Meanwhile, Olcay had caught the tail end of the conversation going on inside the house. He stood listening curiously just outside the sill by which Alex sat working on her pottery. Olcay knew that Fotini was still at work and had explained that their mother usually slept all day. So to whom had Alexandra been speaking just now?

He decided to leave it alone. Fotini had enough on her hands right now.

 

A few nights later, Fotini was seated on her bed sewing one of Mama’s scarves which she never wore anymore when a horrid stench reached her nose. She searched all over the room and finally removed Olcay’s torn shirt, complete with the blood stain from where he’d been slashed. He was presently taking a quick bath so that it’d be clean before Mama awoke the next morning to take hers.

With a pang of guilt and a bit of embarrassment, Fani dropped the shirt on the floor and went to the family room where she opened an old chest by the fireplace. Here was where her mother had put Papa’s clothes after his death…

With a furtive glance about, Fani reached into the trunk and pulled out some trousers and a powder blue cotton shirt. She felt very insecure about what she planned to do but she couldn’t let Olcay continue wearing his battle clothes. The smell would eventually rouse Mama’s suspicions and besides it was simply unsanitary—the dampness made it apparent that he’d tried to wash it, yet the smell of blood persisted. 

Fani sighed. She knew that a deeper reason was that she just didn’t like to see him wear clothes stained with blood because it reminded her further of the war…

Once she’d returned with the new set of clothes, Olcay was just coming out of the washroom, wearing the undershirt he’d had on when she found him.

“I cleaned out the tub.” 

Fotini was silent for a moment as she surveyed him from the doorway even after he’d taken a seat on Alex’s bed.

“Here,” she said and handed him the bundle timidly, “Wear these. They were my father’s.”

“Thank you,” he said slowly, “but you don’t have to give these to me. I wouldn’t feel right…”

“You can put them to better use than he can,” was all she said before she left to the washroom to bathe—and to wash away her approaching tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter for a dash of self-reflection among our characters. What are everyone's thoughts so far? :)


	8. Conversation

For several days, the distant roar of the cannons died down.

One afternoon, Fotini nearly injured herself in her haste to hide Olcay under the bed when Mama awoke, Alex stalling until the soldier was safely hidden. Both girls had noted that she’d become increasingly quiet lately, as if she was trying hard not to wake someone despite the late hour at which she usually rose. 

Fortunately, she just stayed up long enough to paint a small pot which she placed next to one of Alex’s to dry. Both sisters were thrilled—it had been several months since Mama had done anything but nap and weep.

Olcay took a nap of his own beneath Fani’s bed. After her mother had gone back to bed, Fotini roused Olcay from his hiding spot and Alex told her she was going out for a little walk. After telling her sister to be watchful, as always, Fotini went around back to feed their donkey, Toula. Toula wasn’t that old and hadn’t been taken out for a while, causing her to become very restless whenever she caught sight of the girls.

After a short walk around the house to give her some exercise, Fotini opened an old sack of carrots which sat by the entrance to Toula’s pen.

As she stood there letting Toula eat a small carrot from her hand, Fani nearly jumped when she heard a voice behind her but steadied herself so as not to frighten the donkey.  
“Good evening, Fotini,” said the voice which she instantly recognized as Olcay’s, soft and yet lucid, “do not worry, your mother sleeps now. I just want to—to say that if your father is gone, I can watch your house. You say that your uncle fights now, but until he comes back I can keep you and your family safe.”

“Olcay,” Fotini swallowed hard, “that is a very sweet offer. But I must let you on your way now that you are all healed. It’s been over a month. We agreed that you could stay until your belly had healed.”

“Yes, but…”

“Men of your country killed my father...and a piece of my mother.”

“I understand,” Olcay was thoughtful, “but such things happen in war. Turkish women have been massacred by Greek men. It is part of the horror of war. I myself have watched shamefully as my own fellow soldiers took such sinful pleasures. I couldn’t understand how they could do such things, as my only family is female. There were about five of us in the troop who felt that way. Some had wives, some daughters, some mothers, and some all three. Now, I do not know if my mother and sister are alive. My young sister was only thirteen when I left to battle. If she still lives, she will now be almost fifteen. Like your sister, yes? Fotini, I can help keep you all safe.”

He looked at her with such earnest then that Fotini couldn’t take it. Without another word, she replaced Toula in her pen and went back inside the house.

Later that night, Alex silently gathered some carrots from the kitchen cupboard and headed outside to feed Toula as Fotini had instructed her earlier. She thought it odd because she had seen her sister go outside before with the same sack of carrots—but then she’d come back in not long after.

With a sigh, Alex stepped out into the night. Glancing up into the ebony sky, she wished she could see him again. She wanted to know that it was real, a least some of it…but then sometimes she didn’t know what was real anymore. She just knew that it’d been over a month and she longed to see him just to help assure her that she hadn’t been dreaming all long—that her uncle really could be saved and that she wasn’t all alone...

Alex knew it was wicked to feel all alone when she had her family. Sure, Fani could be a bit hard but she meant well and Mama—well, that wasn’t a fair aspect to judge. She just hoped that at least Fotini would remember to wish her a happy birthday this year…

On another note, if her--friend really was who he claimed to be, shouldn’t she be afraid? Why would he help her so easily? Wasn’t he supposed to be a trickster? She’d taken his advice and encouraged Fani to let Olcay stay—and that seemed to have been a wise idea…but still she couldn’t put it out of her mind—if he really was a divinity, then he had power and a lot of it.

Extending her hand with a carrot, she tried to relax as the donkey’s lips tickled her palm. Her lips were soft and gentle and Alex tried to convince herself that there was a part of everything that was like that—soft and harmless. She was safe here at home with her family. Olcay wasn’t dangerous and they had nothing to fear.

That was when Toula spooked and began to thrash around as if someone was close by who she couldn’t quite see. Alex whirled around and looked all over frantically. She glanced up at the house just in time to see a shadow dive forth from the roof and vanish into the velvety darkness, a soft chuckle lost in the gentle breeze. Only stars shone tonight and Alex cursed the absence of moonlight.

Toula calmed down almost instantly and nosed the bag Alex held through the wooden planks of the pen gate. After giving her one more carrot, Alex turned to go back inside as quickly as she could. Someone had been on the roof and although she had a good idea who it was, she wasn’t about to take any chances…

Once back inside the house, Alex couldn’t stop trembling. She felt rather foolish but she’d been on edge nearly the whole evening as the day for her uncle’s arrival drew near. She was sure she couldn’t get to sleep now even though her eyes were beginning to get that sandy feeling from tiredness.

“Still awake, Alex?”

Alex steadied herself to keep from gasping and turned to see Olcay standing in the doorway to the hall.

“Yes,” she explained, “I’m just a bit restless. What are you doing awake?”

“I just went to check on your sister and your mother.”

“You shouldn’t take that chance,” Alex said a bit too quickly, “you shouldn’t risk going into Mama’s room. Sometimes she wakes up without you knowing it or she’ll already be awake and you won’t be able to tell because it’s dark…”

“All right, I won’t do so again if it worries you. But tell me, is something the matter? Back home, I always used to talk with my sister about her troubles and I’d tell her about mine.”

“Nothing in particular,” Alex answered truthfully. She considered telling him that it was her birthday so that Fani might be reminded later but then decided just to see if her sister remembered of her own accord. “I’m just restless as I said. I was actually thinking of doing something to help relax but I’ve tired of reading.”

“Would you like to cook something?” asked Olcay. “I even did that back home when I felt bored. How about you bake something special, like a pastry?”

“Well, we haven’t made Koulourakia cookies for a while...”

“Koulourakia?”

“Yes,” she replied, “they’re buttered cookie twists. Would you like to help me make some?”

“Well, as you said, I probably shouldn’t risk staying inside the house in case your mother wakes up, but I’ll come back in within the hour to see how you’re getting on, if that’s all right. And I’d certainly like to try a pastry.”

“All right. See you soon, then.”

Olcay smiled and then exited out the back door.

Alex moved in a rather monotonous route from there. She braided her hair so that it would stay out of her way and then she grated the peel of one of the last two oranges they’d bought and buttered the wooden cookie platter. She poured the flour, the baking powder, the sugar and the fresh eggs from down the street into a mixing bowl. 

Oh, how lucky it was that they didn’t cook pastry often or she probably wouldn’t have had the majority of the baking necessities…

After stirring for what seemed like over ten minutes, she found that the circular motion was rather hypnotic and couldn’t bring herself to stop until the batter had become a tawny-colored muck. Then she used the wooden spoon to pour out small puddles of batter onto the buttered platter.

Once the gas stove had heated up, she inserted the cookie sheet. She expected that two-dozen cookies would suffice for the following week…

After about a half hour of cooking, Alex was beginning to grow quite tired. Slowly withdrawing the cookie sheet from inside the stove, Alex heard the back door open. Having forgotten about Olcay for the moment, she let out a small yelp and burned her hand on the hot platter.

“Oh no!” said Olcay. “I’m so sorry! Here, let me help!”

Alex was glad that the burn wasn’t bad. Just a red streak not even the size of her little finger. Still, it stung and she thrust it into her mouth with a hiss. Desperately, she willed away the images of their neighbor that threatened to flood her mind once again.

“It’s all right,” she said after he had headed to the washroom and retrieved a wet cloth. He handed it to her with an apologetic smile. “Thank you, I’ll just need some water to cool it off.”

“Alex!” Fotini exclaimed in a loud whisper as she came through the doorway and nearly collided with Olcay, “What on earth? Olcay, what are you doing in here?”

“I’m sorry,” he said once again, “I came in to see how Alex was getting along and I frightened her. She just couldn’t sleep and neither could I. It won’t happen again. I’ll just go outside and leave you alone now. But Alex, if you ever need to talk, I’m here. And I’ve noticed that you and Fani often play the card game—Kseri, yes? I’ll play that with you at night, if you’d like, aşk.”

Alex had to stifle a giggle despite her still slightly throbbing hand. Olcay had noticed her sister’s irritation at her wanting to play cards after bedtime.

“No, Olcay,” Fotini said bitterly, “there’ll be no more staying up at this hour. If you’re bored, Alex, you read.”

“But you say that the gaslight keeps you awake,” Alex pointed out.

“So read here in the kitchen or in the living room. But you can’t stay awake like this because then you just become tired and mess up with everything! You can’t even cook properly in the daytime, let alone in the middle of the night. See now, you’ve gotten yourself hurt!”

“Please,” Olcay protested, “That was my fault. I startled her…”

“Don’t even get me started with you,” she turned to him, “You get back outside right now and don’t come back in. I’ll come out to you.”

Within a moment he’d left out the back door again. With a sigh, Fani continued, “Come, Alex. Wrap your hand in the cloth and put the cookies away. And I mean it. I don’t want to have you up anymore at this hour playing games.”

But of course that didn’t stop her and Olcay from playing some Kseri when they both couldn’t sleep, in the weeks to come. She simply went out to Toula’s pen whenever she felt bored and it caused no harm, no burnt hands, no shouting.

Sometimes she really wished her sister would just lighten up.

That night, she dreamed a strange dream—not frightening, but strange. It began as a series of questions in her mind: Was he real? How could he be a god? If God Himself was supposedly only visible to man when assuming another form, then what was her new friend? Was he just assuming a shape, as well? Was he really just some mystical entity with no true form? Then what were humans? Were they even in their true forms? Was she? Did they have other forms which perhaps existed in another world, a parallel world—like Plato’s concept of the metaphysical heaven in which everything existed in its perfect form? 

What was a true form, exactly? What was even true? And how did one go about recognizing it? Did truth—real truth--even exist? So many questions and no answers…

That was when the shapes began to flow…beautiful pictograms etched into their family pottery began to dance to the steady melody of a lyre. Black two-dimensional figures moved about on a backdrop of golden brown as in ancient Greek art. 

The scene began with a huge beast with hundreds of eyes looming in on a young girl—only to be cut down by another figure, a figure who bore a great sword and hovered above the earth--the Argeifontes, slayer of Argos. The same figure instructed the nymph Kalypso to release Odysseus from her island lair, a passage which Alex had just finished in the Odyssey…

She was alone on a ship—Dimitri had finally become a naval captain and had taught her how to steer the ship…all on her own. It was sunset, though, and she felt lonely. Heavy black clouds had gathered on the amber horizon…

For some reason, Alex’s mind was drawn then to a somewhat disturbing question: she’d read a lot of tales about Hermes and his conquests with nymphs and even his own sister. Did this mean that Aphrodite wasn’t really his sister? She couldn’t imagine divinities committing such horrible sins as incest…and just the thought of him with other women—it made her feel empty inside even if she knew she had no right to feel like he should be hers. 

After all, he was a god and she a mortal. And he seemed so young although she knew him to be ageless…Did she even matter to him or was she simply one of his conquests? A victim of deceit as Pandora had been when he’d instilled in her the curiosity which drove her to open the jar of evils? She’d read about how often the gods of Olympus slept with mortal women—even Alexander the Great was supposedly the son of Zeus, his mother having been impregnated by the god when he visited her in the form of a black serpent…  
No, stop—she didn’t want to think about that side of her helper…

Then she saw Vasili’s smile, felt a warm hand stroke her face, and the scene changed again. She saw a little toddler in a cave grow into a man in an instant. That man emerged from the cave and proceeded to herd another man’s cows away from their shepherd. Alex smiled in her sleep—she knew this story well: Hermes on the day of his birth when he’d stolen Apollo’s cattle. Then the ebony figure of Hermes used a tortoise shell to construct a lyre which he presented to Apollo as penance for his theft. As he left the elder god with a bow, the scene changed…

The Olympian gods morphed into families of women and children as armies ran towards them. She was back on the ship and this time, there was a storm at sea pulling her away from the coast as her village was ransacked. Slanted rain and cold wind cut at her cheeks—no, she didn’t like this dream. So it changed…

The soldiers became dozens of children playing together before a sunrise. She saw a little girl grow taller and frolic about with another girl who was a bit older. Soon, a woman joined them along with two men. Fotini, Mama, Papa, Dimitri and Alexandra…

All at once, Alex was one of those charcoal beings come to life on the ceramic surface—she was there dancing the night away with her entire family once again.


	9. Reflection of a Void

Fotini turned over and over in her bed. Why could she never get to sleep anymore? It seemed as if no position was comfortable. She’d kicked off the bedcover only to get a slight chill and end up drawing them up once again; she’d gone to the washroom and even considered taking a bath but the water would surely be too cold by now; she’d even started to go outside to sleep with Toula until she remembered that Olcay was probably still there.

With a glance under her bed, her guesses were confirmed when she was greeted by empty darkness. Just then, the notion that a boy slept outside in her very yard without anyone knowing save for she and her sister sent a strange thrill through her—a thrill which she brushed away immediately.

In a huff of irritation, Fani tossed off the covers once again and carefully tiptoed past her sister’s bed into the washroom.

Splashing her face with the cool water from the tub, Fotini found that the briskness actually came as a relief. Of course, she was more awake now but at least it was better than pretending to be asleep…

The house creaked and Fani gasped. Why was she so jumpy? She didn’t think that Mama would be awake at this hour. Then again, her mother’s sleep habits were anyone’s guess these days but still the noise had simply been the wood settling, nothing more. Perhaps it had even been her sister turning over in bed in the next room…

That was when she realized that she’d walked over to the mirror beside the washtub. It was at eye level with her so she stared up into it. It was the same old Fotini—the worried look in her dark eyes, approaching frown lines which Alex kept on insisting weren’t really there, and the full lips which she always thought looked swollen as if she’d an allergy…

In the moonlight from the window, the upper half of her face was cast in shadow. It must have been a trick of the light but those shadows almost seemed to ripple across her flesh like dark water. Could this be a dream? It must be because the shadows had begun to cover her face as if the moon outside had disappeared altogether…impossible, right? And why was it suddenly so difficult to breathe?

Fotini struggled to take air into her lungs as the shadows began to constrict around her shoulders as well which was all that was visible in the mirror. She couldn’t breathe and yet the rest of the washroom remained washed in moonlight—so calm while the shadows which devoured her squeezed tighter and tighter. 

Oh God, what was happening? She tried to scream but couldn’t. All that came out was a hoarse, grating rasp—she couldn’t even see her mouth open because there was no mouth and there was no face. All that stood before her was a human-shaped mass of darkness. Even now as she began to grow dizzy from lack of air, the roiling blackness loss its shape as well.

“Please,” she thought frantically, her eyelids slowly closing, “I want to be free—I want to live. Please let me go. I am here and I am alive. I am a person, I am someone. Release me now!”

All at once, there was a loud roaring sound in her ears and when it was gone, she opened her eyes which she hadn’t even realized were squeezed shut…

There she stood, the same girl, only now she looked petrified as opposed to simply disturbed. Her normally fair skin was now deathly pale and she was still breathing hard as if she’d just been liberated from a death grip to the throat.

“Fotini?” It was all right—she was there and that was just Alex come in the door to check on her. She must have made a terrible racket. She tore her eyes away from her own reflection to acknowledge her sister in the mirror. 

Why didn’t she turn around? Her hands were shaking from the uncertainty—the uncertainty of whether or not she was still here. But she must be here if her sister was speaking to her and she had to show Alex that she was there for her…

“Yes, Alex, are you all right?” She simply couldn’t release the tears which were collecting behind her eyes and blinked furiously.

“Yes, I’m fine,” replied Alex quietly. “Are you?”

Taking a deep breath to steady her quivering chin which she was certain would be visible to someone like Alex even in the darkness, Fotini insisted, “Yes. Yes, Alex, I’m fine, thank you. Go back to bed now. I’ll only be a minute.”

Never turning away from the glass portal before her, Fotini was nearly pushed to tears again by the utter innocence of her sister—standing there in her white nightdress, she was a little girl once more, her face framed by the loose curls which escaped her braid, chin and left cheek illuminated in the rippling, soft blue reflection of the moonlight which shone off the water in the tub…

Alex was still so fragile—and yet she was stronger than her sister in that she could recognize the emotions of others so easily. She was much too young to feel others’ sorrows like this and Fotini must do all she could to help her sister maintain that youth—because she herself had lost it and she wouldn’t let the same happen to Alex…not yet. Fotini couldn’t think of a time when she’d felt more thankful to have a sister…

And then Alex was gone. But it didn’t matter for her sister had seen Fotini and that meant that she was still here—and Fotini could breathe easily once more.  
Going out to Toula’s pen to clear her head, Fotini discovered Olcay sitting and reading silently in the corner of the small space. The donkey was grazing on some straw on the opposite side.

As always, he stood up to greet her. “Good evening. Or should I say ‘morning’”? He smiled softly.

“Hello to you, too,” Fani took a deep breath to steady her posture. “I needed some fresh air. What have you been reading?”

Olcay glanced at the book in his hands. “Poetry. Just something I found in the kitchen area. I take it Alex prefers fiction over cooking?”

Fani sighed. “Yes, indeed. Much to all our dismay. She’s simply so stubborn about taking up ladylike behaviors. Sometimes I think she’d rather climb trees all day than get married.”

Olcay chuckled gently. “My sister is about her age now and my family has already been arranging for her marriage since before I left. I suppose that’s the only benefit to having gone off to fight. I was able to avoid the attempt at arranged marriage for a bit.”

“Would you ever leave your country for good? To make a life for yourself elsewhere?”

“I used to think that my country has given me everything,” Olcay replied thoughtfully, “Lately, I’ve realized that it was really just my family, particularly my sister, Dilara. She has her own eccentricities—like Alex. Like all of us. But it’s what makes us interesting, no?”

Fotini gazed momentarily at the starry sky. “Sometimes whims are important, I suppose. Anything to escape being swallowed up by the darkness and repression of monotony.”

The young man before her nodded. “Dilara always used to complain that being married off—especially to one you barely knew or weren’t fond of—was a dreadful future to consider. She threatened to run away multiple times. It was only when I was to leave that she settled, knowing that my family needed at least one of their children.”

Fotini pondered this. She was thankful now that at least her family hadn’t tried to force any specific men on her for marriage. She struggled to even imagine married life in general, let alone to someone she could not stand.

That was when she noticed the way Olcay was leaning against the side of the pen. She could not describe it but he found it quite intriguing, almost alluring. He looked inquisitive and yet surreptitious.

“We’re not supposed to really think about marriage these days,” Fani blurted out, suddenly feeling the need to break the silence, “My parents were arranged, but recently even considering men hasn’t been an option for us. Mama fears them all, save for Dimitri.”

“Men can do bad things. Humans can commit awful crimes.” Olcay conceded. “I am terribly sorry for all of the loss and damage your family has endured.”

Fotini was unprepared for what happened next. He slowly approached her, his arm elevated slightly. Rooted to the spot and both still transfixed from his earlier posture and shaky from her experience with the mirror, she didn’t move.

His skin was soft and gentle against hers as he hesitantly stroked her cheek. She had to swallow the lump forming in her throat to quell the budding tears in her eyes. For the hundredth time, she wondered what was happening here. That was when his hand moved to float like a feather through her locks and then brushed like a breeze past her shoulder on its way back to his side.

When he spoke again, his accent was a touch heavier, his voice a mixture of husk and velvet. “You should really keep your hair down at all times. In my country, the women must cover their hair whenever they leave the home. Dilara was just starting to wear the hijab—veil—when I left for war. I was amazed to see how all of the women here may choose to show their hair in public. It is truly beautiful.”

Fotini would have spoken or at least tried to think of something to reply if her throat hadn’t been so dry. That was the first time she had been touched by a man who was not her father or uncle.

Unbeknownst to the pair in the middle of the pen, Alex watched quietly from the shadows by the entrance. Hoping that her quickening heart couldn’t be heard across the way, Alex suddenly felt a tug at her chest. Something about the way this young man touched her sister. She wondered what it felt like…she was almost guilty with the thought, but she suddenly wanted to be stroked like that. 

She knew not whether this curiosity stemmed from the utter sin of a man touching a woman before marriage or her own individual interest. Even now, she was almost frozen, lost to the vicarious tingling on her arms where she longed to be caressed. All at once, the night air seemed more brisk than she remembered.

But who would touch her like that? She was terribly homely and had nothing of particular interest to eligible young men. Alex felt truly trapped now and not only because she stood at the edge of a tiny animal pen. What if she never escaped this life? She could not help the blossoming jealousy that bubbled within her at the sight before her.

That was when a gentle breeze began. The air was warm and lifted her hair ever so slightly from the back of her neck, all the while making the tiny hairs there stand on end. She was shivering from this heated wind and did not want it to stop. Soon, it was as if the breeze continued to swirl only around her, kissing her cheeks, chest, even her bosom and limbs beneath her nightdress and shawl.

Closing her eyes, Alex let herself grin like a little girl. Here she was watching her sister indulge in a guilty pleasure while she herself had her personal wind of delight. If nothing else, it was simply so different from anything she had felt in her life. The way her skin prickled as if on fire—but it was a good fire. Idly, she hoped that the two figures who stood several meters away couldn’t hear her muted sigh.

Earlier that evening, a young woman had witnessed her older sister struggle to find herself in her own reflection, while finally coming to terms with her own skin right here, in the hands of the forbidden. But that young woman was also safe from such a void of character—as she now knew what she craved. 

And she felt no guilt at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Pardon the late update and short chapter! This one is purely introspective. I hope you all enjoyed. :)


	10. Faith

"Good day lords  
If it's your bidding  
Of the Christ's divine birth  
I will tell in your manse  
Christ is being born today  
In the town of Bethlehem  
The heavens rejoice  
And all creation delights  
In the cave he is born  
Within the horse manger  
The king of the heavens  
And Maker of all . . ."

Alex had always enjoyed how these hymns were spoken as well as chanted to welcome Christmas time, the approaching New Year and Epiphany. Even tonight, as she sat beside Fotini in the church chapel with the rest of the congregation, the gentle sound of unified voices lulled her into relaxation.

Still, she had questions. The very existence of these questions almost burned brighter the moment she’d set foot in church, simmering so strongly that Alex was certain their priest could see them cascading around her.

Gaze following the trails of smoke that curled up from the already burnt out candles on the podium’s edges, Alexandra caught herself wondering how exactly the Greek people had abandoned such a rich pantheon for worship of this single deity – God, or Jesus Christ…honestly, she never truly understood how they could be one in the same while also being distinct people. 

And as far as this Epiphany – this mass realization that there was only one true God – where had this come from? What great miracle had transpired to convince entire nations to transfer their faith from ageless gods to this one Almighty?

Were the Greeks of old truly chained up in a cave facing away from enlightenment, as Plato had suggested? Then again, Plato had lived generations before Christ was even born…

And yet, ancient Greece had brought about democracy and countless achievements in science prior to this epiphany. It hadn’t been Christ – but Zeus, Hermes and the others – who had led their people to pave the way for nearly all of known civilization.

Once again, Alex felt a shiver pass through her bones. It took some audacity to even question her faith while under God’s watchful gaze. After all, wasn’t His presence strongest in the chapel?

And yet this all-powerful God of theirs hadn’t even intervened to protect His people.  
That was when a flicker of movement caught her eye from one of the small stained glass windows. The night sky outside was dark, the shadow that passed must have been even darker.

A bat? Perhaps. An angel? Seemed less likely…

Something more familiar?

Alexandra fidgeted in her seat and drew her shawl up around her throat and ears so as to shield her peripheral view from the windows.

Once they reached the house, Alex’s teeth were chattering. Despite her shawl, her icy fingers had already begun to feel numb as she bid Fotini good night and hastily started a fire out in the hearth. For once, Fani didn’t inquire as to her sleeping location, for which Alex was immensely grateful.

Spreading her shawl out on the wooden floor, Alexandra rubbed her hands together and lay down. Closing her eyes, she tried to relax and willed her thumping heart to relax.  
She was home. She was safe. Mama was asleep and Olcay was hidden away in Fani’s room, where no one would find him and cause an uproar. She could breathe easily.

Most importantly – the shadows she’d been seeing lately were figments of her imagination. Perhaps it all was. What else could it be? It was Christmas time, and she must retain faith for the sake of her family…and her sanity.

One invisible God was just fine with her. By definition, a deity should not be able to communicate with humans. Even if said deities did exist…

She had her family, and they were all that mattered.

“And yet, you’re lonely,” spoke a voice right next to her ear.

Alex’s forehead broke out in a cold sweat as she kept her eyes shut and struggled to quiet her breathing.

“Now don’t hold your breath,” chided the voice – a female, she realized. Perhaps around her age. “No need to be frightened. It’s just me.”

At this Alex bit her bottom lip and opened her eyes. She found herself looking up into the face of a young woman with black curls, mauve skin and nearly translucent blue eyes. Although Alex didn't dare look below the shoulders, the creature didn't seem to be wearing much besides a thin grey shawl.

“Cassandra,” the girl finished, and Alex’s eyes widened. Still, she bit her tongue.

The young woman – Cassandra – smiled softly. “This form doesn’t make you feel more at ease? I look better in person than as rags, don't I?”

“Form?” Alex tried blearily.

“Of course,” Cassandra’s silky voice was barely above a whisper.

“Now my art is coming to life…” this was almost too much for Alex.

“Not quite. Cassandra is just the form I’m taking. You recall my preferred versatility, though I had noticed how you’d warmed up to that familiarity of my preferred form.”

Vasili.

“Given your mother’s terror of men, I figured you might warm up a bit easier this way. After all, I’ve noticed you’ve been rather tense…”

“Hh…” Alex couldn’t say his name. Not like this. What if this truly was him?

Quick as a flash, the entity was leaning over her again, lips just brushing her ear. Alex's legs trembled ever so lightly, and she prayed that Cassandra wouldn't take notice. That catlike grace was definitely reminiscent of him.

“You mustn’t let any of them – your mother or any of them control your future. The stakes are high in this game among men, but in the end, it all comes down to the individual. Make your own choices or succumb to true madness. You spend your days fearing your family’s judgment, your religion’s wrath. Tell me, what’s the greater sin?” her voice was husky. “Believing in a god of old or desiring a creature who takes the form of another woman?”

Alex truly was holding her breath now, her fingers clutching the linen of the shawl beneath her.

The voice continued sweetly, "What if neither is a sin? What if we are not the enemy? After all...who says I always have to look like the intimidating shepherd boy?"

As if this form were any less unnerving, Alex thought as the creature brushed a bare hand through the flames in the hearth.

In a silky whisper, she continued, “Fire. Both life-giver and destroyer.” 

Alex suddenly felt as if she might faint from the heat of the fire. Shutting her eyes tight, she felt the presence disappear.

As Alexandra tentatively opened her eyes, she realized the raging fire beside her had dwindled to ash. From all around the room, the lyre began tinkling and a gentle whisper seemed to echo.

“Happy Christmas.”

 

The following week saw a small, quiet celebration in Ainos for the New Year. 

Fotini kept Olcay out of sight while Alex kept her mother entertained with a bit of literature and then even managed to persuade her into a walk out along their street. 

Euadne kept her arm hooked through Alexandra’s at all times, averting her eyes from most everyone, especially the men. 

Alex sighed. This was meant to be a cheerful time. She was still thinking of the visit from – Cassandra – the other night and desperately needed a distraction. She wouldn’t let her mother’s persistent fearfulness spoil the festive mood. 

Still, passing the charred houses across the way and now right beside their own home did little to encourage the holiday disposition. They all hoped for a new beginning with the New Year and yet, war took no heed of the calendar. 

They’d all lost something, she decided. Mama had lost Papa and a part of herself. Alex and Fotini had lost their father and the full attention of their mother.

They’d all suffered and Alexandra was determined to press on, through whatever means possible. If that meant questioning her faith in family now and again – in tradition – then so be it. She refused to feel guilty for simply considering the existence of something…else. 

After all, if she couldn’t rely on her own ability to get through this and help her family do the same, what other choice did she have?

 

On the eve of the Epiphany, Alexandra woke to a light tapping on the bedroom windowsill. 

Rising silently so as not to wake Fotini, Alex plodded quietly to the window – where she was met instantly with the face of Cassandra grinning.

Catching her breath to stifle a shout, Alex nearly fell backward. Cassandra stayed where she was, lifting a finger to her lips and then beckoned to her before vanishing again into the shadows.

Alex’s heart pounded in her chest so hard she was finding it difficult to breathe. Who was this creature? Was it actually Hermes? She did certainly share a similar trickster vibe…

Best to go outside and see what she wanted, lest risk Cassandra wreaking some havoc on the family. Idly, she wondered if Olcay had seen or heard anything from his sleeping place outside.

Resolving not to be caught in her nightdress again, Alexandra put on her smock and a pair of slacks she had borrowed from Vasili years earlier, when he’d taken pity on how she struggled to run in a dress. Fortunately, he had always been taller than her and the pants still fit now. 

Lastly, she tied back her long hair. If something happened outside, she didn’t want anything getting in her way of running or fighting. 

Closing the front door as quietly as possible, Alexandra turned to face Cassandra, somehow avoiding the urge to jump this time. Perhaps she was finally growing accustomed to the entity’s strange appearances.

“Did I frighten you?”  
she asked softly.

Alex shook her head slowly.

“Come with me,” Cassandra reached to take her hand.

Alex stood rooted to the spot.

Cassandra sighed. “Very well,” she morphed into Hermes and Alex blinked. “Better?”

The last word was spoken in that familiar, light male voice. Suddenly, Alex realized she’d be uneasy regardless of how he appeared to her.

Though she had to admit, while she sometimes truly doubted his male version…the Cassandra form was simply disturbing. 

He loomed in and laced his fingers through hers again. “Still think you’re dreaming?”

Alex felt the need to take some control of the situation. “Switch back,” she requested.

“Making demands now?” The question may have disturbed her if it hadn’t sounded full of mirth. 

Alex decided she’d prefer less of a height difference, even if it meant a more disconcerting presence. 

A moment later, Cassandra stood before her again, still holding her hand.

“No,” Alex spoke, despite herself, “I know it’s not a dream. But I don’t know why you’re visiting me. Do you want Greece to worship you again?”

Cassandra laughed softly, a sound like small bells. Once again, Alex thought she could make out the faint sound of the lyre on the light breeze.

“Hardly,” Cassandra’s pale blue gaze burned into hers, “Simply tired of seeing you humans destroy each other. More often than not, you seem to do so in the name of worship – of religion. What if religion is simply a means to control?”

“Like you’re doing now? Your magic?” Alex replied testily, still managing to keep her voice low.

“Perhaps it only seems like magic,” answered Cassandra easily, “But you’ve always liked your mythology. And if that’s what makes you feel truly alive…better able to live through each of these miserable days of war, who’s to tell you otherwise?”

Alex removed her hand then. “What if I don’t believe in any of it? Not in Jesus or God or you?”

The final word was spoken with particular bitterness, and Cassandra’s eyes never left her for what seemed an eternity.

“Tell you what,” she finally broke the silence, her stare now carrying a hint of amusement, “I’m going to run. If you catch me, I’ll leave you be for good.”

“What if I won’t chase you?”

Cassandra smirked. “Then perhaps your house won’t be so lucky the next time the battle fire strikes Ainos.”

Alex’s blood ran cold and she broke into a run after Cassandra who had already taken off at full speed down the winding path toward the ocean. In the distance, a subtle flash took the night sky, followed by a low roll of thunder. 

Alexandra was panting by the time she finally reached the foot of the hill where she’d first met the shepherd. The night was humid and she tasted salt on the air as she drew in a deep breath, stopping for a moment to rest.

Glancing up, Alex cursed the lack of moon tonight. Beyond the first few meters of dry grass leading up the hill, the entire way ahead was shrouded in darkness.

No, wait…she thought she saw a light bobbing up ahead. Was it a lantern? Cassandra seemed to have vanished long ago, not so much running ahead as gliding and weaving in and out between patches of complete darkness where not even starlight shone. 

Spurred on by the subtle threat to her family’s home, Alex bolted up the hillside at full speed. As it turned out, the light came from two torches, one adorning either side of the entrance to a temple. At least it appeared to be a temple. The tall structure stood supported by tall pillars that seemed made of marble, though in the darkness it was harder to tell.

Where had the olive tree gone?

“Go on,” Cassandra urged, by her right shoulder, “Go inside.”

“What’s in there? What happened to the olive tree?”

“You must reclaim your faith to find out. What good will your advice do your uncle if you have no faith behind the source of such advice?” 

With that, Cassandra actually did vanish right before Alex’s eyes.

A moment later, Alex yelped at the sudden crash of lightning that struck overhead, seemingly just on the other side of the temple. 

The proceeding roll of thunder did little to calm her nerves. Taking a deep, slow breath, Alexandra walked through the inky black entrance into the temple. 

Her first thought upon entering was darkness. Pitch darkness. 

Then a whoosh as over a dozen torches lit up all around the dome-shaped ceiling overhead. The light bathed the interior of the temple in a gentle orange glow. 

Alexandra examined her surroundings. About five rows of pews adorned the vast space, culminating in an altar that sat just below a large circular opening in the temple’s roof. Occupying the space between the altar and the circle above stood the giant olive tree. 

Had the lightning struck the olive tree? It didn’t seem to be on fire…

Vaguely, she was aware that the rain had begun to pour outside.

Ever so slowly, Alex approached the tree through the aisle between the sets of pews. Stepping up onto the altar, she brushed one hand gingerly over the dark, moist bark of the trunk.

Alexandra’s thoughts were cut short by an ear-piercing shriek that echoed from all around. Feeling heat from behind her, Alex had just enough to glance back into a mass of white-orange before she leapt backward off the altar. 

Taking in the sight before her, Alex felt her stomach drop. There, climbing slowly down the trunk of the tree with a featureless face fixed in her direction, was a creature made entirely of flame. 

Alexandra vaguely noted that the being had a human shape. Ducking below one of the pew seats, she desperately hoped it couldn’t see her. She was tempted to throw her hands over her ears as the thing shrieked again, a terrible wailing sound. There was hissing too, she realized. The place where its face should have been burned white-hot, brighter than the rest of its form. 

Fortunately, the creature wasn’t making its presence very difficult to follow. From its terrifying cries to the sweltering heat that surrounded, the fire beast was very easy to track with her eyes from this spot. 

As she watched from her space on the ground, Alex was surprised that it hadn’t found her hiding spot yet. Instead, it had taken to crawling around on the floor, almost as if smelling for her. She had to assume it could either not see or hear very well, possibly both. 

As the moments passed, it didn’t escape Alex’s attention that the being seemed to be avoiding the altar. 

Alex’s eyes darted up to the opening in the ceiling just above the tree’s topmost leaves. The rain…

The creature had descended the far wall and was now steadily inching closer. Perhaps it could sense motion?

Its form was truly bewildering, if also terrifying. If she stared too long, she found herself nearly transfixed by the constantly moving shapes of the flames that made up its frame.

Numbly, Alexandra realized she had only one choice. She was closer to the altar than to the front entrance. She had to make a run for it. The creature seemed slow enough and the tree had enough branches. She truly wished it wasn’t blocking the entrance, but at the moment, it would be directly in her path if she tried to escape that way.

No. Her only option was the tree at the center of the altar.

Just then, there was a soft chink beside her. Alex’s heart nearly stopped as her head shot down to see what had caused the noise. One of the gold coins he’d given her had fallen from her pocket. 

And yet, the creature did not turn in her direction. So it must hunt based on movement, after all.

Alex had to act fast. Without giving herself too much time to think, she grabbed the coin and threw it with all her might toward the temple entrance. The creature let out a sharp screech and slunk over the threshold, halting just before moving outside into the rain.

Taking a final glance to note the position of the fire being, she made a dash for the altar. 

The creature must have sensed her movement this time as well, for its shriek was just barely muffled by the next crash of thunder overhead.

Alexandra used her peripheral vision to monitor its slow movements across the floor and eventually over the pew seats as it approached her location. As the fiery form slithered along, the wooden pews burned black in its wake.

Taking hold of the lowest branch, gratitude washed over Alex at the dryness of the bark. Less of a chance to slip. Now she just had to reach the roof before the creature caught up to her. And she had no reason to believe it couldn’t climb…

Sure enough, Alex had made it about halfway up the tree before the creature’s shriek came from directly below her. If its wail hadn’t alerted her to its proximity, the growing heat from its presence about two meters below her would have. 

On pure instinct, Alexandra spared a glance down at the creature and felt a wave of dizziness. She hadn’t climbed a tree in a while, not since she and Vasili were quite young. To her horror, the creature reached up toward her then and the fire’s glow seemed to brighten as ever so slowly, a scarred hand with melted flesh emerged from the flames. 

Alex refused to give up now. She would not let her fears deter her. Steeling her grasp on the branches, Alex continued to pull herself up. If she didn’t make it out alive, she’d no idea what Hermes might do to her family, following her failure.

And then she was there. She’d reached the mouth of the opening and could feel the rain on her face through the tree leaves. 

Meanwhile, the creature was gaining on her and she could feel the red-hot sting of approaching flames licking at her ankles. 

How could she pull herself up? There was about half a meter between the rickety top of the highest branch and the marble rooftop. 

An idea struck her then. The cannons. Heat could be used as force. True, the force was meant to kill, but then even if she died, she would still have made it out of the temple. 

And perhaps she could take this fire beast with her. 

Biting her bottom lip to steel herself against the pain, Alexandra kicked out at the creature, screaming to agitate it further. Even when it shrieked back at her, she didn’t cease her own bellows. Keeping her face trained upward to avoid the heat, she kicked and kicked until at last, a strong hot blast blew her backward and up. The boost propelled her just enough to fall over the stone lip of the opening, her midsection colliding painfully with the ledge. 

Focusing on the cool relief the rain would provide, Alex used the last of her strength to pull herself the rest of the way until she could clear the opening and roll onto the roof. 

The creature was over her in one instant – and dissipated in the rain with a choked cry in the next.

Alexandra lay on her back, catching her breath and reveling in the feel of the rain on her hot skin. Overhead, the ashen remnants of the flaming beast were lost on the wind of the storm. 

Distantly, she marveled at how, apart from a slight sting from the rain, her legs seemed mostly unharmed, her clothing only slightly blackened with soot.

Gradually, Alex realized that the gentle pulling of her hair wasn’t the cold breeze and sat up with a start. Now sitting across from her, Hermes smiled kindly, for once at a comfortable distance.

For some reason, he looked more like Vasili in that moment than ever before. 

“It was never about religion, Alex,” he spoke softly. “It was about faith. Faith in yourself. The courage to break free of others’ control. Understand that you alone are capable of saving those you love.”

A moment later, he was gone as well. Suddenly, she felt her uncle must have an even greater chance at survival now. 

Alex walked the path home with a confidence she had never felt before. 

Upon returning, she went to wash the soot from her clothing to avoid questions in the morning. 

Everything would be just fine.


	11. On the Border

The winter sun was already low in the sky. Another day almost gone and still the war showed no sign of ending. A few days before, there had been some reports of an immense withdraw of Turkish troops from Athens, but Dimitri wasn’t near enough to the source to take that to heart yet. 

He cursed under his breath and took a small swig from his canister. As dusk drew near, the sound of canon fire had finally begun to quiet down.

Sometimes, he felt like simply giving up. The Turks seemed to be winning, anyway, despite the recent Greek policy of scorched earth. Even the city of Smyrna which the Greeks had held for the past three years was being presently surrounded by about five Turkish divisions and was expected to fall within the next week…

Perhaps the Turks simply had more stamina--more fervor in gaining their republic than the majority of the Greeks had in keeping their part of Anatolia. But he would never surrender. He could never abandon his family. He knew that he was all they had left. 

Already he’d come to feel like a father to Fotini and Alex, completely responsible for them as well as their mother. Those Turks would have to tear him apart before he’d let anything happen to his loved ones. Moments like these often came like bouts of confidence and optimism—like things would actually turn out all right. 

Then, there were the lows—the urge to just surrender, because he’d rather run to his family and care for them. He wanted to be there all the time instead of abandoning them as he felt he was doing now. Let the damned Ottomans have their republic! He simply didn’t want to waste any more commitment on anything other than those who needed him the most…

At least they would be passing through Ainos again tonight, for the first time in over a month. He just hoped to God that they would make it. They’d been surprisingly free from battle since yesterday afternoon, but there was word of an army waiting beyond the Thracian border. No matter, he’d worry about that when it came. 

For now, he was going to see his family. The seven men who’d survived with him from his originally small command of sixteen were relieved to hear that they wouldn’t have to march through yet another night. Dimitri had promised them a couple hours of rest stationed by his sister-in-law’s home. He’d make sure to spend as much time as possible with his family before crossing over into Anatolia, a journey which, before now, he and his army had miraculously been spared.

He trudged on, content if only with this opportunity for a late family visit, just after Christmas and the New Year.

“Alex, honestly, what has gotten into you lately?” Fotini asked as her sister strung up various garments of clothing to dry on the line strung across the wash tub, pausing every few minutes to run her brush through her thick hair.

Alex smiled in response, mimicking her sister’s tone. “I honestly don’t know what you’re on about.”

“You’re just so happy—in a world of your own.”

“Maybe,” Alex grinned to herself, “or maybe I’m just trying to look my best so that I feel better about myself—to help make the best of things. You should really try it more often yourself, Fani. Don’t be so glum all the time. I miss it when you used to be the jokester in the family. Why don’t you go out for a walk with Olcay? Strolls with him always seem to calm you, even if you don’t go beyond the yard.”

“Don’t feel like it,” Fotini responded a bit too hastily.

Alex didn’t feel like having another argument with her sister. Instead, she sought another topic and her stomach gave a small leap at her next question. “Fani - what’s it like to kiss a boy?”

Fotini didn’t know whether to laugh or whine, so she chose both. “Alex, what in the world? You think I am anymore knowledgeable in that area than you? We haven’t left the house save for runs to the market when it’s safe and church on Sundays—and I only worked with the ladies at our division when at the fish market. What on earth makes you think I’ve met anyone?”

Alex decided to avoid voicing the obvious, as she didn’t wish to rouse her sister’s wrath once again. Best to keep the interest geared towards herself. “Oh—I just wanted to know if maybe…if maybe you might have an idea of what it could be like.”

Fotini frowned slightly. Only now did she realize how utterly sheltered she’d kept her own mind—fenced off to such topics as these, as if she was forbidden from even wondering about them. 

“I can’t say,” she began slowly, “I suppose it would be rather pleasant. Like kissing your own palm, perhaps—only softer, hopefully.”

“Would it be warm?” Alex was beginning to blush, “I should hope not wet like Dimitri’s greeting pecks. Fani, what if the--boy is older? Like a lot older? And what if he’s just so—what if you don’t know if you…if you can trust him?” How she wished she could stop stammering; it was all she seemed to do anymore.

Fotini expression darkened. “Alex, be truthful with me. Tell me, has some boy approached you on your outings? I remember you mentioned that young shepherd—has he tried anything?”

“N-no,” Alex stammered slightly, “I was just wondering. In theory, I suppose. If someone is rumored to be mischievous—a trickster, but still very good. But you’re fond of him and he really means to help you. But he’s very powerful—like he has ma-- connections and all that? Would you trust him?”

For some reason, at that moment, a fairly clear image of Olcay formed within Fotini's mind and she sighed, a bit exasperated. “Alex, really, that imagination of yours. I knew it was quite strong, but I never expected you to be conjuring up a beau all of your own. Now do finish up here so I can get on with my load.”

Alex decided to change the subject for a while, just to keep her sister in the room. She needed to speak to her desperately. She felt as if she might burst and she wasn’t sure why. Only that the eighth was approaching and while she knew she couldn’t tell Fani everything, she wanted to share with her some sort of secret. Unfortunately, her giddiness had gotten to her head and she chose to speak of that which she had deemed perilous just a few minutes earlier.

“Come on, really,” she insisted, “take a walk with Olcay. It’ll do well for your nerves.”

“We’ve just been through this, Alex. I’m not in the mood.”

“Why?” Alex pushed. “It seems that I’m the only one who’ll go out for exercise anymore. Mama’s asleep, as always—why don’t you go out? I’ll take care of the rest of the wash…”

“I said no, Alex,” Fotini said a bit more curtly, “I’ve told him to leave. It’s time he was out of here, anyway. His family will be wanting him back.”

“You told him to leave? But—but he’s so nice! You can’t do that. They’ll just kill him out there—our men. He says he likes hiding out with Toula—she reminds him of his battle horse. And no one’ll find him so long as he stays out there. Fani, he likes you. He really likes you, don’t you see? At this rate, you’ll never find a decent man…”

“Look who’s talking,” Fotini retorted, “you’re always the one saying how you’ll never marry if it’s not for love. You of all people should see why he needs to return. I can’t possibly love him. He’s a Turk—are you suggesting that I marry into the enemy?”

“No—I’ve just seen the way he looks at you. He admires you so. Really, Fani, I just want you to be happy. You saved his life. That’s what love is about—making each other happy or at least content! And he’s always so kind to us. He probably would be to Mother also, if only…”

“Alex, stop this now!” Fotini nearly shouted, “I’ll have no more. How many times do you have to hear—to see that things can’t be as easy as in the myths? There are no heroes—people may be in the right place at the right time to protect each other, as Dimitri has been for us—but there are no heroes, there is no magic or demons, and there are no happy endings. People marry for money and convenience, and the only demons exist in men—human, mortal men.”

“I’m not saying it’ll be a happy ending! Olcay isn’t a rich man but he’s a merchant’s son, educated in the ways of the world, and he cares for you and he wants to care for us all for as long as he can. It’s been nearly three months and he’s done us no harm at all. If he tries to go back now, he’ll never make it back to Anatolia. Wait at least until the war has ended. Dimitri can’t be here all the time, but Olcay can! He speaks Turkish and can probably persuade them to leave us alone somehow. Maybe trick them into believing that our house is vacant. Don’t you care more about our safety than the fact that he’s an enemy?”

Fotini couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Alexandra, your mother is always ill now thanks to her accident which I hope you remember came about thanks to them.”

“No, Fotini,” Alex hissed quietly, “It was no accident. Mother was raped. There, I said it! She was violated and it tore her apart. She’s had no other adults with whom to talk about it and she’s needed to keep it all bottled up for our sake. Well, perhaps if we’d all stop walking around as though she has a terminal head cold and face the facts—maybe that would help her a bit. Ignoring the facts for your own comfort will just make it worse. You of all people, with your sense and logic, should realize that.”

Fotini wanted nothing more than to strike her sister right then and there. But the strain she’d caused her sister had already killed Alex’s optimistic spark and Fani couldn’t help but feel a pang of remorse for having destroyed that. Speechless just as she had been after Olcay’s offer to stay, Fotini turned to leave while Alex strung up a slip.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Alex spoke up again. “Oh and speaking of Dimitri—he’s coming to pay us a visit tonight.”

Fotini turned. “What? How…?”

“Just trust me,” said Alex without turning from her work, “for once.”

As Fotini left, Alexandra’s smile had already returned to her lips, more smug than joyful this time…

However, her smile soon vanished again once she picked up the next article of clothing—a pair of her mother’s undergarments. It was stained with blood—a lot of blood. Alex clenched her jaw to fight the tears as she remembered the one event even she wouldn’t dare recount aloud.

About five weeks after her assault, the girls’ mother realized something was wrong when the vomiting from the shock still hadn’t ceased. Soon after, she reasoned that she must be carrying a child. Screaming like Alex had never heard anyone scream before or thereafter, Euadne had beaten her own abdomen. Fotini had guessed she’d struck herself for as long as she screamed—about a half hour. The following morning, Alex had gone into the room to find her mother passed out, the sheets around her legs stained a bright scarlet. Alex had known that it had been for the best—how could Mama have kept an unwanted child, a child of the enemy? Still, her mother striking herself like that, the fact that she had been able to bare such pain for so long—that frightened Alex more than anything in the world.

It was about a month before Mama left her bedroom for long enough, but when she couldn’t sleep one afternoon and decided to decorate a pot, Alex had stripped her mother’s bed and proceeded to wash out the blood in the washroom. She’d scrubbed until her hands were raw and still the deformed pinkish continent surrounded by the darker crimson outline refused to disappear. And although Alex spoke with her sister about everything even when Fani grew weary of her talk, she never let on about this discovery because she feared that the guilt would have been too much for her to bear…

When they saw their uncle in the doorway, even Fotini rushed madly to greet him. Mama hadn’t yet awakened so she didn’t mind acting unladylike in the absence of criticism. She’d no clue where Olcay was but she hoped that he’d taken her advice and left earlier, lest he run into trouble with Dimitri’s men who were presently resting outside.

A bit later, the neighbors had come out for a humble evening of ouzo and merriment at the soldiers’ return, traditional music of the eastern Mediterranean floating over the rooftops as several of the townspeople played instruments in celebration and gratitude. Alex sat by quietly watching as her uncle spoke quietly to Mama, asking how things were and if everyone was safe and all. It was quite admirable how he attempted to be there for Mama to talk to as much as he could, in place of George. He was also aware that she needed another adult around who truly understood these horrors—and he’d be there for her as best he could.

With a glance around to make sure no one was looking—Dimitri was out front telling his men to sit tight for the next hour or so and Fotini was cutting up some fresh apple and warming up Alex’s koulourakia for the men outside—she carefully removed the remaining gold coin from her dress pocket and rubbed her thumb over its surface. She hadn’t taken it out since he’d given it to her, fearful that she’d lose it. Even now she marveled at its beauty—so lovely despite its lack of design. It bore no design save for the perfect sphere that ran along its border on both sides.

Then, without fully understanding what she was doing, she brought the piece of gold to her lips and kissed it. May he—or whoever was looking out for them all because she refused to believe there was no one—let her convince her uncle to do what he must…

Now was her chance. Fani was out serving the fruit and pastry and Dimitri was still seated by the fireplace.

Her stomach full of pigeons, Alex slipped the coin back into her pocket and quietly made her way over to Dimitri, trying as best she could to assume a confident stride.

 

Dimitri had just finished unlacing his boots and now sat back in Papa’s chair with a sigh. Time was running out. She best start speaking before she gained any more doubts. 

“Uncle Dimitri.” Solid, not a squeak like she’d expected to utter. “I’ve something to tell you.”

“Yes, latria?” said Dimitri as he looked up at his niece with a warm smile. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, it’s all fine,” she’d been practicing this speech for a month and simply couldn’t falter now, “I just wanted to speak to you about a—a dream I had. I dreamt of your plans for the morning with the enemy…” When she glanced at her uncle and saw that he was still listening—not laughing--she continued. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but I—dreamt that the Turkish troops were not going to march into battle until the morning. They plan to rest tonight, not to fight.” Another pause. “I think that perhaps this may be some sort of sign, just a gut feeling—that you should reconsider moving out tonight. Set up camp by the border, for the Turks won’t cross until after sunrise. At the first sign of light, move out. They should still be sleeping. Then, you can take them by surprise.” Alex stopped.

Since when had this conversation gone from telling her uncle her dream to her commanding his battle strategies? Oh, well. It was all she could do. She desperately hoped it would be sufficient. That he’d at least consider her advice. She hadn’t faced that monster in the temple for nothing.

Alex was thrilled when her uncle’s face creased into a smile. She knew now that he wasn’t vexed with her—but what if he meant to jest her words?

“Thank you very much for this advice, Alex. It may be a sign indeed. I shall consider it further tonight with my men once we’ve departed for the border.”

Alex sighed with relief and embraced Dimitri. “Thank you, uncle! Thank you!” She could almost cry from joy. “I just want you to come home safe from this horrid war!”

“As do I,” replied the other, “mostly to care for my family.” He smiled at her tenderly and Alex laid her head on his shoulder. She still had some doubts as to just how much he would heed her words, but she knew that she shouldn’t push it any further. Honesty accomplished more than desperation.

Meanwhile, Fotini had forced herself to laugh and joke with her uncle’s men. They were all very kind to her, appreciative for their evening snack—and yet she couldn’t help but shake all over behind her mask of mirth. She irritably wondered if she’d ever get over this fear that Mama had branded into her and her sister over the years. She was pretty sure that Alex at least wouldn’t tremble before her own uncle’s men. After all, Dimitri was right inside the house. She could call out if anything went awry. Which it surely would not.

Excusing herself shyly, Fotini took the bag that contained the remainder of the apple flesh and skins and made her way round back to feed them to Toula. As she turned the bend out of the sight of the men, she couldn’t help but sigh, despite feeling a spark of irritation in doing so. Why couldn’t she be more like her sister? Jovial and daring?

“Listen to me,” she muttered briskly, “wishing to be like my younger sister. Well, at least I can keep my desires intact.” 

That just made her feel more uncomfortable: what had her sister been rambling on about earlier, anyway? Had she been sneaking out? Why else would she be so concerned over her appearance?

But when? And to meet whom?

“Fotini.” Oh God, no. Please don’t let this actually be happening. Of course, it was. 

“Fotini, who makes that noise? I was napping and Toula started to fuss. I awoke and I heard men’s voices. Has your uncle arrived home?”

Fotini could really hit Olcay right now. But of course, she turned and was once again caught off guard by his striking appearance. Only now the moonlight cast an eerie shadow on his face so that only the right side was visible as he stood up to meet her from the corner of the pen. 

His strange green eyes seemed to gleam in the darkness under his thick lashes. As he came over and tried to take her hand, a burst of laughter erupted from the men on the street and Fotini took a sharp breath. 

“Yes,” she managed as calmly as possible, “he is home. Why are you not on your way to yours?”

“I really did mind your words,” he began gently, “I just couldn’t bring myself to leave—not yet.”

The sound of the street music was slightly fainter back here. Somewhere far off, a dog barked in the night.

“But…”she was at a loss, “why?”

“Because I care for you, Fotini,” Olcay said softly and she swallowed. “You rescued me and I fear I cannot repay you. You didn’t have to save me. Indeed, you could have killed me the moment you learned that I was Turkish. I was weak enough, but you had mercy on me. Throughout the time I’ve been here, I’ve learned so much about your culture—pottery, your types of food and clothes, letting me wear your father’s clothes…your liking for meat.” 

He smiled lightly, remembering his initial revulsion towards lamb and pork, both forbidden to eat in the Islamic culture. 

“So much of this I couldn’t have learned of or seen had I been slain in battle. You gave me the chance to learn about the culture and beliefs of the people who I am supposed to hate. Your women, they wear scarves when they shop for food but it’s only for safety from the elements—not safety for their lives. In Anatolia, if a woman is caught without her veil by the wrong person, she may be killed on the spot. I’m glad that you never wear one, Fani. My younger sister, even she has to wear it. It’s so nice to see that you and Alex need not live under such restrictions.”

He took a subtle step forward, extending his hand to lightly touch Fani’s hair which she’d left down for once today. Before she could shrug away, Olcay dropped his hand.

“And I have realized—that I do not want this to happen anymore. Not here, of course, but nor anywhere else. It just disgusts me, horrifies me—we all love the same, no matter from what culture we come.

“When we left, we were told to fight for land which is rightfully ours, part of Anatolia: Western Anatolia. Many of us were only given that much information and no more. Most of our infantry has had no other experience in the military…

“At first, I wanted it. To help my people regain their rights as an independent nation. The breaking up of the Ottoman Empire which followed the Great War had everyone unsettled at home—we feared that we’d lose so much of our precious land. Only some people wanted to fight for this—the revolutionaries of Anatolia—and your revolutionaries fought against them. We fought despite the peaceful wishes of our sultan. I used to be indignant, Fani, I used to want to fight for what was ours…but if this is what it leads to, then forget it. It’s not worth it to lose so much over a piece of land. Over anything really, except your own loved ones. 

You said that Jesus wanted everyone to be respectful, yes? And peaceful? Allah wants the same. We all follow the same God. I really do not understand why we pray for heavenly release from death when we can stop so much of it ourselves. We say that we are thankful to Him for giving us life, but we cannot be very thankful. The fear of an afterlife—of a hell which will swallow us up if we are not good—why does this not frighten people into refraining from war? Since the beginning of this war, I have come to see that the most frightening hell imaginable comes from what we do to each other—to each other and to ourselves. If only the important people, the elite, could see this—the ones whose decisions matter.”

Fotini drew a shaky breath. Never in their long talks in the night--or their walks around the yard—had she ever heard him say anything of this sort. She’d known that he was against killing the innocent, but she had never expected him to openly defy his country’s motives—and before the enemy. But that no longer sounded right—he wasn’t her enemy and she wasn’t his…not anymore.

“Stay here,” she told him and when he turned to go back to his corner of the pen, she continued, “I mean it, Olcay. Stay put. Your Greek is astounding but not enough to pass for one of us. Dimitri’s men are from all over and they’ll recognize that you’re not a native.” 

With that, she sprinkled the leftover apple bits all over the floor of Toula’s pen and turned to leave as soon as the donkey began to nibble on the scraps.

However, as she began to walk away, Olcay grasped her shoulder and spun her around into his arms. She tried to put her arms around him for an embrace and almost let out a shriek when he brought his lips to hers. She was in utter shock. Alex had been right…

His lips were warm—and soft. 

This close, she was nearly overwhelmed by the sweet yet spicy scent of him. She had no idea what to do next. When she felt his tongue trace across her lips, she drew away with her hand to her mouth. What frightened her most of all was the strange warm feeling beginning deep in her belly…

“I’m sorry,” Olcay said a bit too loudly, “It was my first time. I just wanted to say thank you.”

Lowering her hand slowly, Fotini repeated her earlier orders: “Just stay put.”

Then she turned around once more and hurried off so he couldn’t try anything else—he’d already backed off about five meters but she wanted to be sure. When she reached the corner of the house just before returning to the little camp ground of her uncle’s men, Fotini couldn’t help but run her tongue over her lips. They tasted no different than usual.

Still on edge but not nearly as much as before, Fotini reentered the stuffy front room where her sister and uncle sat by the fire. Alex seemed to be in the middle of something she’d read recently, no doubt from the Odyssey or some such piece of classical literature. Fani supposed she was avoiding discussion of the war due to the guilt of having housed Olcay for so long. Fotini herself felt a pang of remorse whenever she thought about how hard her uncle had worked—how he’d risked his life to defend them all against the Turks.

That was when she remembered, seeing the two together by the fire—tonight was the eighth, the next time Alex had said they’d see Dimitri. Wait, it couldn’t be. Oh God, it was—the day before had been the last fall service, the seventh. Tonight was the eighth.

Alex’s eyes were beginning to grow dry from staring into the fire and Dimitri had just risen from putting on his boots. Glancing away from the flames, she looked up to see Fotini standing in the doorway, her face rather flushed.

“Fani, are you all right?” Alex asked her sister. This caught Dimitri’s attention.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Fotini smiled to reassure her uncle who was now shrugging into his jacket. “May I speak with you for a moment? Please excuse us, Uncle.”

“Certainly, girls. I was just going to check on the men now. I’ll let you know when we start moving out.” 

A moment later, he was gone. The fire crackled and Fotini was suddenly aware of how much she was sweating despite the fact she’d been inside the house but a minute.

“Alex, I need you to make sure the men are on their way, all right?”

“I think they were going soon, anyway. What’s the matter, is there danger?”

“Just the Turk hiding in the pen with the donkey, that’s all,” exclaimed Fani.

It took a moment before a look of understanding crossed Alex’s face. “You mean he’s still here? You let him stay?”

“More like he invited himself,” Fotini said bitterly, “honestly, it’s as though he enjoys being in these types of situations. No matter, just see them off, will you? I’m going to say my goodbyes now because I’ve got to take a cool bath. It’s like an oven in here. Since when could our house warm up so? So strange for wintertime.”

“Perhaps you’ve got a fever,” Alex mused though she couldn’t help the smile from creeping to her lips.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Fotini said, and a moment later, she was gone.

Overcome by a sudden fatigue, Alex clutched the coin in her shawl between her fingers. Even through the soft cloth, she could feel its coolness radiating into her palm.

The rest of the night whisked past like a dream. Fotini returned for her bath, the cue for Alex to usher away her uncle and his tiny army. With a last kiss to his cheek, Alex felt frighteningly cold and uncertain as he withdrew from their embrace and waved goodbye. 

Soon, Alex was left standing all alone on the small slope in the path which led down from their doorstep into the dirt lane below. When the men’s voices faded away completely, she sighed and turned to go inside, grasping her shawl in both fists.

Behind her, a brisk breeze began to blow, welcoming forth the autumn showers.

Once they’d crossed out of Ainos, Dimitri couldn’t help but resume the monotonous trek which he and his men had adopted a few weeks into the war: Just keep your head down and don’t look up, unless of course you hear gunshots or shrill ululations.

Still, although he didn’t show it, fear had tied his belly into a tight knot—he’d never left Greece, never in his life. As a boy, he’d always dreamed of being a naval officer so that he could explore the expanses of the Mediterranean and beyond. He’d been on a ship, even commanded it a few times, but never beyond the waters that belonged to Greece. 

Now he was marching into an unknown land, a simple foot soldier—a captain of infantry under Commander Leonidas—but an infantryman nonetheless without even the advantage of horses.

Just then, a fellow soldier and one of his spies, Gregoros, approached him. “Pardon, sir,” he asked a bit out of breath, “Andreas and I just returned from scouting. We’ve spotted a Turkish campsite up ahead. With the red flag and all. Do you think we should wait and see if any reinforcements come this way?”

Dimitri paused for a moment. “No,” he said after a while, “we’ll press on for about a half hour more. You two continue ahead and see if you can spot any more troops coming across the border from the East. Try to be back within the hour to report if it’s clear ahead—or if the army has any machine artillery.”

“Yes, sir,” then the younger man was gone again.

A little while later, Dimitri became suspicious when Gregoros and Andreas still hadn’t returned. It’d be dawn in about an hour and they’d have to take action. For some reason, his niece’s words fluttered through his mind like a breeze which had flown in one ear.

“The Turks won’t cross until after sunrise. At the first sign of light, move out.”

His men already had the instructions to move out after sunrise. Could Alex’s dream possibly mean something? Dimitri wasn’t a strong believer in psychic abilities or the supernatural, but still such inkling at the time of war gave him a funny feeling—and the spies hadn’t returned. Perhaps there would be more Turkish troops patrolling the border? He thought it safer to just wait behind the border for now and move out in the dark. At least then, he could hope of gaining some sort of advantage—to take them by surprise, as Alex had put it.

Silently berating himself both for protection as well as sympathy for their spies who could now very well be dead, Dimitri turned to his men.

“There’s been a change in plans,” he declared in a raised voice, “we move out tonight. We want to make it in time to cross over the border while it’s still early dawn. That way, hopefully, we can attack at first light while the enemy still sleeps. Gus, the hour, please?”  
A stout soldier with bushy black hair checked the pocket watch he kept in his jacket pocket. “16:30, sir,” he reported solemnly.

“Very good,” replied Dimitri, “something tells me that we should expect the Turks to still be beyond the border. I can’t see any lights or hear anything, so we have to be as quiet as possible and hope that they still slumber. I want to take these bastards in their sleep.”

“Excuse me, sir?” asked Nikolaos, a younger soldier of about 20, “but what makes you sure that they will be asleep? Perhaps they are just quiet and keep their torches from sight as we do?”

“I see your point, Nick,” Dimitri acknowledged him, “but it’s a chance we must take. All of you, have your rifles ready and stay as quiet as you can. We should reach the border by sunrise. From there, we won’t wait. If we see the Turkish army, we must attack immediately. Give them no time to react. If it happens to be a large army, scatter. If worst comes to worst, you have my permission to surrender. But do whatever you must to try and avoid such a route. I wish you all the best of luck. We are a powerful army—size counts for little. You have done marvelous work, staying together no matter what—I’m not trying to preach to you. I would send you home right now if I thought there was any chance that I could. I realize that quite frequently, fighting may seem futile—why die for your country when you already have your families at home? Family is more important than land…and yet our families need us now more than ever. They are counting on us. They are counting on us to capture Western Anatolia for ourselves. And try we must! Are you with me?”

“Yes!” cried each one of the five men before him.

With a smile to hide his clenched jaw, Dimitri called his final command. “All right, then, men. March!”

Miraculously, there were no cannons going off near this area at the time.

Still, Dimitri had no desire to ever again describe what happened thereafter. It all seemed a blur of fear and haste—they did make it to the border only to find Gregoros and Andreas sprawled on the other side. They were dead. Andreas had a bloody hole in his forehead and Gregoros a nasty wound in his gut. Dimitri only hoped that Gregoros’ death hadn’t been much slower than that of Andreas. 

He wanted to bend down and kiss them on their heads—they were scouts he knew, responsible in leading the rest of the army and yet he couldn’t help the urge to weep which overcame him…two boys down, two more young boys—Gregoros, thirty years old and husband; Andreas, thirty-six and father to a young woman who was now expecting a child of her own. He himself was nearly forty and felt a sick guilt whenever he saw these—young men lose their lives and with them a hole was carved into the lives of all who had loved them. Why couldn’t it have been him - the brother who had never married - who lost his life? Why Andreas, the husband and father? Beloved in so many ways?

For years living alongside George and the family he’d made, Dimitri’s desire to dedicate his life to the sea had grown ever stronger. Certainly, he’d considered taking a wife. Yet he knew deep down that it wasn’t for him. This is an area in which he strongly agreed with Alex’s yearning for the culture of ancient Greece. 

Ever since he was even younger than Alex was now, he’d known that he did not prefer the company of women. As history told it, such a notion would have held no risk for alienation from society in the old days. Today, however, was a different story. 

Of course, he’d heard among his fellow recruits throughout his time in the forces that other countries, such as England and America, were more accepting of a man choosing to be with another man. Dimitri had his doubts. He remained fairly certain that the stigma prevailed worldwide. It wasn’t a matter of place, but of time. 

Although he’d never told George about this side of himself, Dimitri was sure his brother knew. Yet, beyond his family, he doubted it would be easy for him to acquire friendship or even work, if the truth were to come out. It made so particular sense. Why the way one person chose to conduct his romantic life had to impinge upon every other aspect of his affairs. How were such things at all the business of other people, when it had no effect on them whatsoever?

No. He’d much rather remain the mysterious bachelor, and that life was much easier when one was traveling the world. And what honor there was in committing one’s life to protecting others…

But at the same time, he knew that his only family would be lost without him. He could only thank the heavens that he and his five remaining men stood where they did now—and by God, he was going to keep it that way if he had to die trying. He was not going to let these Turks win anymore of his boys without a fight—and a terrible, ghastly battle it was…

The Turkish army had indeed been asleep when the Greeks marched in to overtake them. It was an army of about thirteen men. Fortunately, they hadn’t machine guns or rifles, only large Scimitar blades and handguns. 

Still, the Turkish blades were a horror. Nikolaos lost an ear within the first five minutes and Gus suffered an awful wound to his shoulder, leaving his right arm useless so that Dimitri called to him to turn and run back across the border. He knew he was disobeying the rules for an officer, but he couldn’t stand to see anymore of his men die if it could be avoided. Dimitri didn’t have enough time to consider the fact that he had actually stepped foot in a foreign land for the first time—nor did he want to. He had no desire whatsoever to be here, especially when this land should belong to Greece. The Turks already had so much, they’d taken so much—his brother; his sister-in-law was dead to the world, leaving her children practically without a guide…

No more was Dimitri’s thought as he was tackled by one of the last two Turks, his rifle knocked out of his grip. You won’t have anymore of my family. No more of our family!

“No more of our people!” he finally shouted aloud as he resorted to give the soldier a swift kick to his tender region and then rolled over to retrieve his rifle. 

Swinging it, the butt struck the livid soldier across the mouth, knocking out three of his front teeth. With a strangled cry of pain and rage, the man tried to sever Dimitri’s throat with the curved blade of his sword only to be knocked again in the head by the butt of the other man’s rifle. Taking this opportunity, Dimitri took aim and shot the man in the head.

Meanwhile, the Turk who had been fighting with Nikolaos ran to his comrade’s side and, with the eerie ululation of victory which all the Turks used in battle, aimed his pistol at Dimitri’s head from behind—but not before his own head was lopped off. Dimitri dropped his rifle beside the body of the man he’d just shot and looked over in awe at Nick who was smiling over at him, snagged Scimitar in hand, the pain not entirely masked by the utter triumph in his blue eyes.

“He forgot his other weapon,” croaked Nick, his eyes sparkling in the almost fully risen sun, despite the bloody stump adorning the left side of his head. 

Then, with a sigh, the young man collapsed from exhaustion. Dimitri fell along with him not long after. He and Nick were the only ones still on the site of battle—they’d lost one more man, Dorus, but amazingly Gus and Haimon had escaped to the other side of the border. Soon, Dimitri’s ears filled with the weak laughter of his friend who lay beside him.

He was utterly disgusted with his life and the lives of the men he led. Yet they had won—they’d beaten those brutes…thanks to the advice of his niece.


	12. Lights of Olympus

Although she knew it to be true, Alex could still almost scarcely believe the news from the courier when he ran around that evening, telling of the Greek victory at the Thracian border.

Fotini even asked her why she was weeping to which Alex had simply responded, “You know that I cry when something is too great to believe.”

Then, when Fani had gone back to her sewing, Alex removed the coin from her shawl and gasped. Its smooth surface was now decorated on one side by a goat and on the other by the head of a young man—Hermes wearing his petasos. On the opposite side, the letters A I N were written in a sort of arch above the etching of the goat. She’d seen photos of such coins unearthed from ages past within Ainos. He’d been worshipped in this village for many years…

After checking on Mama, she’d gone to take a bath, hurrying to light the oil lamp before the shadows in the washroom grew more menacing. The wooden cross over the door caught her attention for a few moments. She was grateful for this everyday reminder of her father.

After disrobing and setting her dress beside her nightgown on the table by the tub, Alex’s tranquility was interrupted by a sharp twinge in her lower abdomen—she dearly hoped that she wasn’t due to bleed soon. She never even bothered to mark it down anymore. She figured herself to be fairly regular by now and had stopped asking Fani about womanly attributes for about a year. 

She wanted to be more independent, to show that she didn’t need her sister’s constant motherly hovering. She understood and appreciated Fotini's attempts to act as a maternal figure, but sometimes it just grew irritating.

One hand on her belly, Alex gently lowered herself into the tub of lukewarm water. Reaching over to the small table where her dress and shawl lay, she once again took out her coin. 

There he was, plain as day, his golden features shining in the moonlight which shone in from the window.

“Evening, Alex,” said an amused voice, “It worked, didn’t it?”

In her surprise, Alex dropped the coin into the water, while at the same time managing to splash nearly all of it out of the tub.

“What are you doing in here?!” 

Alex shrieked a bit too loudly, frantically crossing her arms over her upper torso and bending over so that he saw as little as possible while she climbed out of the tub and covered herself with her towel. Against her will, images of the living Cassandra assaulted her.

“My apologies,” said the young man on the windowsill. “I’ll avert my eyes till you’ve bathed.”

She pulled the towel a bit closer around her shoulders. “Till I’ve bathed?”

“Why, yes. You have yet to wash up.”

“How do you…”Alex’s eyes widened. “How long have you been sitting there?”

She soon realized that it didn’t really matter as he could probably see through her clothes whenever he wanted…

“Long enough to see that you’re not yet bathed…and that you’re having some discomfort. I’ll make that better, shall I? I don’t want anything disturbing your happiness now, not even nature’s callings.” 

And with a slight smile which seemed to be directed towards the window frame at which he now stared, Alex’s belly felt fine again.

“Thank you,” Alex said quietly, “but shouldn’t I dress?”

“As I said, not until you’ve washed,” he said, sounding slightly like an older brother must sound, “I’ll wait here and not look again till you’re clean and decent.”

Smiling timidly, Alex consented and resumed her bath, her eyes never leaving him. His body was now clad in a red toga just as when he’d saved her from the hydra. His taught muscles gleamed in the moonlight as the gentle melody of the lyre played softly through the room, despite the fact that his hands were empty save for his staff. He also wasn’t wearing his petasos this time, leaving his mass of dark curls in plain view.

Although she trusted him, she couldn’t help but keep her gaze fixed on him even as she rubbed the soap all over her body. It was most odd but also somehow strangely enticing…

After she’d finished washing up and climbed from the tub to dry off, she cast a furtive glance in the mirror which reflected the window where he sat—there was his reflection, plain as day.

When she’d clothed, she walked over to him. “You may look now.”

“Why, thank you,” he smiled, exposing yet again his brilliant teeth. Somehow, Alex wondered if perhaps Fani was right—someone so perfect must only exist in the imagination…or in heaven. Perhaps he wasn’t Hermes at all, but an angel? She wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference—both flew at impossible speeds, both were messengers…was there any difference?

“I wanted to apologize,” he began, “for startling you and your donkey that night. I just knew you felt frightened and I came to watch over you for a bit. I suppose I didn’t help much, did I?”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Alex said a bit too quickly, “better you than one of the Turks.”

He laughed softly. “Lovely decoration,” he admired nodding towards the small wooden cross above the doorway.

“Thank you,” Alex said, “Papa put it up around five years ago.”

“It suits the doorway well. I’ve always been one for doorways. You feel somehow accomplished stepping over the threshold, entering a new realm…rather off topic, perhaps, but I’m glad that they’ve put my symbol to such fine use.”

“How do you mean?” Alex asked as she climbed up onto the windowsill next to him. 

She was idly aware of the lack of room they should have and wondered if he had done something to give them more room—made the window frame larger, perhaps?

“The cross was originally based upon my Four Directions: North, South, East, and West, the sides of the world. I must say I’m not impressed with the compelled conformation of a human body into such a shape, but when crafted out of an inanimate object, it makes for a fine crest.”

Alex let out a small sigh.

“He misses you greatly, you know. But he’s always with you—even as we speak. Every moment. You’re his favorite little girl. Always have been and always will be.”

 

Alex just turned her head from the inside of the washroom to look up at the night sky. She wondered if her Papa was watching over them. What would he say if he saw her now? Here on a windowsill with—well, she still didn’t know what to call him. Trying her best to remain discreet, Alex rested her chin upon her knee and slowly shifted her gaze to his form beside her. 

Right now, he looked like any other older adolescent boy, with curly dark hair and a fit body like that of a runner in the Olympic Games. She also couldn’t help but notice how the cloth drape of his toga left half of his chest exposed…

“Shall we go?” he again interrupted her thoughts.

“Go where?”

“Just on a little trip I think you’ll enjoy,” the twinkle in his eye was back.

“But, how…”

“Take my hand,” timidly she rested her hand in his and he closed his fingers over hers, “Trust me. Remember, I’d never let any harm come to you. I’d be failing my job immensely.”

“How so?” Alex asked.

“I’m their voice, Alex. The others use me to communicate. Who do you think introduced the ancients to astronomy and other disciplines far out of reach for human materialistic understanding?”

"Astronomy?" Alex was astonished, faintly aware that they still held hands. His hand was warm, its palm calloused—no different from Dimitri’s or Mama’s. “What others? What are you all really?”” she managed shakily. 

She truly was turning down the pathway to sin now.

He just smiled kindly at her. “Come, let’s go.”

“But…” 

Alex didn’t have a chance to finish before she was whisked off of the windowsill, forced to shut her eyes against the violent wind. No, it wasn’t the wind—they were soaring so fast through the night air that it whipped through her hair and stung her skin slightly—faster than any bird, faster even than those airplanes. 

Still not daring to open her eyes, Alex let her arms fly around her porter’s neck, holding on for dear life. Nearly lost to the roar of the wind, the faint sound of a chuckle reached her ears.

To Alex’s relief, after what seemed like hours, the gusts slowed to a harsh breeze and a moment later, she felt herself being placed upon a solid surface. Slowly opening her eyes, Alex glanced around only to be met with the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.

She sat atop a high temple on the top of a tall mountain which itself overlooked the sea. Off to the left, she could just make out the twinkling of oil lamps and torch flames from Ainos. 

From here, the village looked so small…

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Hermes asked beside her, his arm around her shoulders. “I do hope the trip wasn’t too overwhelming. I slowed up my normal traveling speed to make it a bit more comfortable for you.”

That had been slow?

“Where are we?” Alex asked quietly. She didn’t remember having seen any temples this large near Ainos.

“We’re atop the mountain with that olive tree—the one where we first met. It’s my favorite place; I guess you could call it a dwelling. The temple on which we sit now is what was here in the days of old. It was really my only temple—I had many shrines in gymnasiums but really no temples besides this one. Around the 5th century BC, it was demolished in the name of the new religion and centuries later, I planted that tree in its place. I couldn’t stand how bare the mountain looked with nothing upon it.”

The temple where Cassandra had led her…perhaps the flame creature truly was gone?

“But how is the temple here now?” Alex wanted to know.

“Now that your faith has returned, I’ve come to assist you and so everything of mine that ever was now exists here in your time. It’ll be like that until you need me no more.”

Alex couldn’t imagine when that time would come. Then, with a shaky inhale, she asked the question which had been bothering her for the last month. 

“Tell me,” she began carefully, “You said you’d never let me have another nightmare—after that dream with Argos by the sea. Then the hydra nearly attacked me during that night…was that really not a dream?”

“No,” he answered gently, “I’m true to my word. That beast was real, all right. The living accumulation of both yours and your mother’s fear of the men who fight in these wars—it had the ability to destroy you, and if you hadn’t escaped and I hadn’t come, it may very well have. Your fear was real and so was the creature. Little Aión was living proof of that. Such terror can even make your dearest loved ones appear as threatening monsters as happened with that nightmare about your uncle—when sometimes, all you’re really afraid of is losing something such as freedom or, in some instances, life itself. When your dread is that powerful, it can destroy things and people whom you hold dear without you even intending to do so.”

Alex was suddenly reminded of her mother at the mention of loss of freedom—how she was bound to care for her mother forever lest she die of guilt later on.

“But—if you’re supposedly the god of boundaries, then can’t you stop that sort of thing from happening? I can handle the nightmares, but not monsters crossing over into my daily life. They could hurt someone.”

“Not if you’re the only one who can be touched by them. You and your mother have both allowed your fears to seep into reality. Look out for her, Alex. Such fear can often consume…”

“What about Fotini?” Alex cut in, “Are you saying that she has no fear at all?”

“Of course she does,” he smiled a bit, “She fears greatly for your safety as well as for the safety of your mother and often weeps in the night after you’ve gone to sleep. She’s just a bit too good at masking that fear—at denying it. You keep yourself contented with your reading while she keeps herself focused on the hope for a bright future—a future abroad, am I right?”

Alex nodded. It had been Fani’s dream for as long as she could remember to attend university in America—to leave this place behind. Not Alex, though—Alex loved her home and couldn’t imagine abandoning it. Although she loved to study languages in school and longed to someday travel so she could become immersed, she had never considered living so far away.

“It’s an advantage, I suppose,” he went on, “when it comes to shielding her from such incarnations, but it doesn’t suit her so well socially—particularly where you and Olcay are concerned. You’re affectionate, Alex; you understand the importance of emotion, particularly during such harsh times.”

Alex was at a loss for words. With a sigh, she just snuggled closer to his side, laying her head against his shoulder. In turn, he rested his head on top of hers and she smiled contentedly. Suddenly, all of her problems and fears seemed so distant—still existent, of course—but far away, as if they couldn’t reach her up here.

And that scent—a scent of honey mixed with cloves, like Olcay’s only more faint…Why hadn’t she noticed it before?

“It’s really remarkable,” he continued softly, rendering her from her thoughts once again “how much power the humans have—how much ability you have to decide your fate. Unfortunately, the ones who call themselves elite are often the ones who act before they think and get others into trouble while they sit back and watch. They suffer from an excess of self-confidence and a fear of losing the control which they possess. That’s really what war is. It causes so much pain and strife all because a few spoiled men get what they want—or don’t get what they desire. A petty game. Of course, not everyone can get along but the least you can do is keep your anger focused on a point out of the range of the innocent...look there!”

Alex glanced up in time to see a firefly, the first one she’d seen in years. Quick as a flash, Hermes caught the little insect in his fist.

“Hold out your hands,” he said turning to her, “and make sure to keep them cupped tightly though take care not to crush the fly.”

Alex did so as he handed over the tiny bug whose light was just visible between his fingers and then between hers.

“Now,” he instructed, “release it.”

Alex opened her hands and gasped as about twenty fireflies soared forth into the night sky. She followed their trail until they dispersed toward the full moon, surrounding an finally settling all about the glowing sphere, becoming stars in the black void.

“It’s magic…”

“If you choose to see it as such,” Hermes replied with a sigh, “or you could say it’s just fact. You let others live their lives with no interference at your own interest and so many more will survive for future generations. Don’t squash the lone firefly and you’ll wind up with the equivalent of five oil lamps soon after. That’s what Socrates attempted to convey in his apology to the people of Athens so many years ago. 

“Leave people to practice their own beliefs and mind your own, but never indulge in discrimination against something you don’t understand simply because you may fear the unknown. The Athenian people lost a great benefactor in Socrates, perhaps the first gadfly to walk in Greece and advise his fellow citizens—it was absolutely horrid watching him take that hemlock. But his final speech did indeed leave most members of his society enthralled by a new legacy—his legacy. The legacy that he then passed on to his student, Plato. You read, so you know the story, yes? Interesting how so many great figures go unnoticed until after their deaths.”

Alex smiled. “But why can’t you stop the war? You and—whoever else you know up there? If you’re so powerful, you should be able to end it before it even begins.”

He pulled her closer as her eyes involuntarily filled with tears. “I just want it all to be over. Like you said, so that we can live life. Mama will never be the same. Isn’t that enough?”

“As wondrous as you may think I am—we are,” he replied, “we haven’t the power to interfere in your affairs any more than we are now. Why do you suppose my father keeps me busy with delivering messages to everyone? He felt that I needed something to do and I did—I had too much time on my hands and kept on getting into mischief. No one’s perfect, Alex. But we can all improve, that’s for certain…

“For instance, I give you messages--four messages and you can choose to follow them or not. But if you do, you’ll find that the path is clearer this way—because you are so young, and you’ll usually find that your decisions are usually at least a bit influenced by those around you.”

Like you? Alex thought sullenly but kept silent.

“You’ve suffered greatly, but you’ve still been quite sheltered. You haven’t traveled and seen things which would allow you to understand how best to conduct your choices. That’s why I’m here. However, it’s your decision whether to trust me or not. I have no intention to pressure you in any way.”

“But am I the only one you’ve helped?” Alex asked almost frantically, “and why me in the first place? I’m just one girl in a tiny village with no say at all in the decisions of these—elites you speak of.”

“Your eyes have held an intriguing curiosity lately when you’ve looked up at the night sky…at the stars,” he answered, though not really heeding her question. Then he changed the subject. “I’ve always been impressed by young people. They have so much insight and logic—they realize that man needn’t murder each other over such matters as land or wealth. The perilous trait of humans—what many call a superior intellect—is often no more than the hedonistic yet clever attempt to take all for oneself, not for the need but simply to exhibit power. 

“These power wielders—these men are the real beast in your closet, the real reason to fear for your life. Every person has the potential to become a monster if bred to be so—when it comes down to it, only children are safe for they frequently haven’t been exposed to the hatred and suffering long enough. Your innocence is often your escape. You’re no less than a goddess, Alex.”

“When we’re not the victims of other people’s greed,” Alex muttered moodily, a complaint which she painfully regretted once she’d actually taken in his latest remark. She, a goddess? More like an awkward lump—at least that’s what she felt like most of the time. Phineas was the graceful one with her swanlike neck and high cheekbones.

“As for your wondering if you’re the only one I’ve advised—I don’t wish to aggravate you, but—just try to worry about yourself for now. You and your family have enough on your hands without worrying about the problems of others. Let’s just say that only a select few can savor a morsel without consuming it. I recognized that in how you handled that little olive months ago.”

Alex licked her lips bitterly. Of course she wasn’t the only one he visited. How could she be? She also wondered why he bore such resemblance to her childhood friend, and why he never mentioned Vasili, as he did other people in her life.

“You’re going to think me very selfish now,” she glanced up at him, “but can’t you please take me with you? Take us with you? To wherever it is you go when you’re not—here. I want us to be rid of this world. Mama needs to leave and put this behind her. We need to get away, please, please just make it stop!” 

She thought she caught a look of surprise—the first she’d ever seen on him—as she threw herself into his arms. He held her and stroked her hair while she cried, the second time he’d done so in the last month. She was vaguely amazed at how she didn’t feel the slightest chill despite the fact that she was in only her nightdress. From somewhere nearby, the soothing voice of the lyre began once again.

Finally, she pulled away. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to seem so childish.”

“Not at all,” he assured her, “Don’t ever let anyone try to make you feel like crying is a weakness. If anything, it’s a strength. The fact that you have the nerve to let others see you in such a state. I can’t tell you how much I wish we could simply end it for you—for you all.” He leaned down, gently resting his forehead against hers so that his curls brushed softly against her skin. She wiped at her eyes shyly and drew back slightly, still subconsciously wary of her personal space. He certainly was unlike any of the young men she'd met, with his habit of keeping her close rather than at a distance. Gods weren't bound by mortal rules of modesty, she reasoned.

“Is it because of Pandora?” was her next question. “When she opened the jar and released all the evils into the world—is that how such war and hate came about?”

“It was a part of it,” he conceded, “but without a little bad, you wouldn’t know when something was good. Still, it should never, ever have reached this level of turmoil. Even now, humanity are developing the greatest weapons of all and if such progress remains unchecked, chaos will ensue within two decades time.”

Alex wondered what type of weapon this must be. Was he planning on quelling the destructive progress of humans himself?

Hermes looked off into the night sky that was filled with glittering stars. 

“The universe is so much greater than you or me. Even I cannot begin to comprehend its majesty. So why do we waste our lives at battle when we’ve already been given the privilege of living in such a remarkable and mysterious universe? Surely, a gift too precious to understand must be worth more than that…”

Alex realized then that, for the first time, he’d referred to himself as part of the war—as though he was one with the rest of men.

“As I was saying earlier,” he continued a bit more sullenly, “You’d best watch out for your mother. She’s not safe—I mean, from her own thoughts. Better tell Fani to keep an eye on her, as well. The more eyes, the safer. She has demons which come to haunt her every second of every day, eating at her spirit like venomous snakes. Guard her, Alex, with all your heart. I don’t mean to frighten you, but she needs your protection. That’s my third message to you.”

For the first time, Alex was aware of the slender serpents entwined four times around his staff that he now held casually in his free hand. In the moonlight, the two snakes almost seemed to slither of their own accord. Before long, she had to force herself to look away again.

Then another thought meandered unbidden into her mind. “The fire. That was a test.”

“Our beasts come in all forms. Many of you humans call them demons nowadays. Fire has long captured the fascination of mankind. It can be both glorious in its life energy, keeping people warm. Or…”

He paused, trailing his forefinger over the stone surface before him. Alex swallowed as her eyes followed the thin line of fire left behind by his fingertip.

“Destructive,” he finished smoothly. “When it gives life, one must know when to rekindle. When the flame gets out of hand, it’s important to know when to douse it.”  
Alex numbly wondered if that flame meant the enemy…or simply life itself. 

The glowing trail dissipated as he stood in one fluid motion. 

“Now enough of this melancholy talk, eh?” he asked, the lightness returning to his tone, “Would you care to dance?”

Um,” Alex began, “I’ve never really danced save for the street festivals during New Years, Christmas, and at a few weddings. I don’t really know how.”

“No worries,” he said with a patient smile, “I’ll lead. But you really do need some time away from your cares. The night’s too fine to waste. Come now, stand up.”

Alex could scarcely believe her ears, but nonetheless she got to her feet and took his extended hands. They clasped hers gently and he began to move her around gracefully, one of his hands slipping to the small of her back while the other kept hold of her right hand.

“I…” Alex began glancing at her own right hand which still dangled at her side.

He just smiled again. “Put that hand on my shoulder.”

Laying her head against his chest, Alex took a shaky breath and closed her eyes.

“There now,” he whispered in her ear, “isn’t that better?”

Alex had never felt more secure. When the dance ended and they’d stopped rocking, he laughed and gently took a strand of her hair. “What do you have there?”

Alex glanced over at what he’d removed from her hair. It was an olive branch. He held it out to her and she took it carefully.

“Let me guess,” Alex smirked. “Your trademark? Along with your lovely appearance on our postage symbol? You're just - so young. All the time. And if you're so old...” She hadn’t any idea why she was suddenly being so brash—but she didn’t care, because she knew he wouldn’t.

“I am known for my speed if also for thievery,” he smiled in return. "In any case, this is only one form."

Form. She idly thought back to that moment watching her sister and Olcay in the yard, then of Cassandra - and shivered. However, when she opened her mouth to ask him about Cassandra, she suddenly decided against it. Perhaps she didn't want to know if they were one and the same.

Then when she began to hand back the branch, “No, it’s yours to keep. It makes the shine stand out in your hair. But I will do this.” And he took the small branch and paced it expertly behind her ear. “Because you know how to navigate the pathway to peace.” 

That was all he said on the subject. “Happy birthday, Alex. Your sense of responsibility has long been that of a young woman and if I daresay, you have the figure to follow suit. You should really wear your hair down more often. It’s so wonderfully thick and full. Your visage rivals that of Helen of Troy.” 

He smiled down at her, and Alex idly realized that his lips no longer moved when he spoke, as if he uttered the words in her mind.

She’d always kept her hair back in a braid or a tie to try and keep it tidy as Fani advised. She’d never heard anyone agree with her uncle about how she ought to be proud of its texture…

She could scarcely believe it. After Mama’s dread of compliments from men, she really should have been irked or at the very least disconcerted. But not with him—with him, it felt simply electrifying.

As they resumed dancing and he twirled her around, she became aware that her nightdress had transformed into a flowing, deep blue gown which flew about her with each spin. Her left shoulder was bare, resembling the style of a toga. At her neck she wore a string of pearls and part of her hair was kept back in a ring of pearl. 

Her feet were bare, the air tonight perhaps cold enough for a light dusting of snow and yet, she did not feel cold. It was as if he had created an aura around her in which she was immune to the cold and danger--where she could feel beautiful and graceful, dressed in clothing which she could never have hoped to afford. The music of the lyre was joined by a santouri, the instrument she’d always heard at weddings and street celebrations.

And most important of all, he’d known it was her birthday…

Alex hadn’t any distinct memory of how she’d ended up back in her bed. She remembered Hermes carrying her away from the mountain. He’d then taken her to swim in the sea for a bit once she’d told him that she hadn’t been there for years and missed it immensely. She was quite relieved at not needing to explain to him that she’d never learned to swim. He held onto her the whole time leaving no opportunity for her to slip away into the depths.

And when she did dip her head under and glanced up through the rippling waves at the night sky—she realized she’d never seen a view so wondrous as the moonlight through the currents of the sea.

How wondrous was the sea’s ability to be fearsome with its thundering waves while at the same time, peaceful and majestic beneath the quiet moonlight…

One moment, Alex had been treading water, glancing up at the stone temple as it stood majestically under the soft glow of the moon—the next she’d been in her bed, warm and dry, tucked beneath the woolen blanket.

The following morning when she awoke to find the spot behind her left ear empty, she began to move things around in a bit of a panic, worried that last night had all been a dream. No, it couldn’t have been…

Because as she tossed aside her pillow, there lay the olive branch as clear as the approaching day, gleaming in the morning light.


	13. The Beast Within

Another day gone by and still Olcay refused to leave until the war had ended.

Fotini had never felt so confused in her life. Ever since Mama’s accident—ever since the war had begun for that matter—she’d assumed a sort of routine: wake up, wash, prepare and eat breakfast, feed Toula, go to Mass on Sunday mornings, read a bit, sew, see to laundry, feed Toula again and walk her around the side of the house, read, make dinner, read some more, say prayers, go to bed.

Now that Olcay had entered her life, she found herself deviating more and more from her previous monotony—she was constantly on edge around him, especially since he’d kissed her. Not only was she concerned for his safety but she also wasn’t at all used to the way he made her feel. 

She thought this should be expected from a girl who hadn’t had any contact with a male her own age in over three years—but still, it irritated her greatly. Keep your head down and don’t let yourself get wrapped up in anything. Give no more thought to anything than is due—and everything will be all right. That motto just didn’t seem to apply any longer and, truth be told, she was growing rather weary of it.

She longed to go out for walks, as Alex did—runs, even. She found it surprising that her figure hadn’t yet begun to exhibit her lack of physical activity—there was another oddity: A month ago, she never would have worried about her appearance—because who would have seen besides her own family, namely her mother who preferred her daughters to be as physically unappealing as good health allowed? 

Still, she couldn’t help but feel as if that void—that bottomless pit of a girl who had been staring back at her from the mirror for the past three years had somehow been illuminated. She had been awakened not by the boy who she’d taken in but by what that boy had made her realize about herself—that she was her own person, capable of things far beyond staying here and caring for her mother for the rest of her days. He had seen war and death and still wanted to move on with education and life itself—he still thought it was possible…and if he did, then she most certainly could as well.

But it wasn’t just the fact of self-consciousness—the fact that he was a male who was not a member of her family. It was the undeniable truth that he knew more about her than any other male outside her family did and he seemed so fascinated by it all. He absolutely marveled in learning all about Greek culture and new words, clothes, foods, arts, literature--everything. 

Personally, she’d told him of her desire to go to school in America, and how she wanted to be a teacher—of what she wasn’t quite sure yet, but she had her future travels planned out. He wanted to learn English just as she and also planned on traveling to America or to London even if he hadn’t any idea how he could manage to afford it on his own. He was very interested in medicine and intended to become a doctor. The incentive to help others remained his driving force while fighting in battle. Even Alex, who had certainly had her share of strife, hadn’t the heart to leave despite her desire to experience other cultures and language.

Before then, Phin hadn’t considered her life’s story and culture to be so extraordinary, until he’d entered her life—now she actually felt a bit interesting. He was just so easy to speak with despite his exposure to violence—she’d even learned a few phrases in Turkish, much to her guilt afterwards, but it was just so entertaining. One needed such stimulation after years of being confined to such an environment. And after all, he had offered to kill men of his own country just to protect her and her family. She felt like she owed him that much, to show interest in his background as he did in hers…

Phineas was torn from her thoughts by a bloodcurdling scream erupting from her mother’s room.

“Turkos!” shouted Mama who now stood in the hallway, waving her dagger. Her cheeks were already streaked with tears as she made her way over to Olcay who was trying to alleviate her fears in flawless Greek, betrayed only by the half-moon charm that hung about his neck.

“Mama, he’s fine! He won’t hurt us!” cried Alex as she tugged on Mama’s arm.  
“How long have you known about this wretch? How long? How did he get in here? You thought you could hide him before I rose, did you?”

She was off and couldn’t be hushed now.

“So help me God, you bastard, if you’ve touched my daughters—you have, haven’t you? Fotini, has he forced himself on you? Or Alex, is it you? Why are you so eager to protect him, hmm? I asked you a question, you little slut! How dare you throw away your virtue for such a—creature! Look at him now, how he quivers! The true sign of a coward, of a ravisher!”

“No, Mama, please listen,” Alex struggled to shout through her tears which were a mixture of hurt and anger, “He means to protect us! He was made to go to war! He had no choice and he wouldn’t hurt any of us!”

Wrong words. Mama forced Alexandra out of the way by her hair and shoved her onto the floor. Then when Fotini tried to block Olcay, Mama lashed out on reflex and slashed her across the forearm. 

As Fotini let out a sharp yelp of pain, Alex began to see from her spot on the floor a beast grow forth from Mama—no, it was her mother. Her eyes blazed violet as about ten hissing snakes wriggled round her head, where her mother’s wild auburn curls had been only a moment before. Her voice was no different, the only thing about her which remained human:

“How could you do this to me?”

Alex no longer knew if this was a vision or not—what she saw was the gorgon—her Mama--begin to tear at her own belly with the knife. From the vast darkness inside there came the horrid screaming of an infant child. Alex screamed in terror and the snakes spat at her viciously, commanding her to be silent.

“Mama, no! Don’t!”

The tears were flowing freely now. Somewhere she heard Fotini scream, “Olcay, leave now! Oh God, just grab the knife!”

“I don’t want to hurt her!” came Olcay’s voice. Both voices seemed to echo in a strange haze, far away yet inescapable at the same time. Alex knew what she had to do.

“Mama!” She pleaded. “They murdered your soul! Don’t give into it! Don’t let yourself become a murderer, as well!”

“Don’t concern yourself, my angel,” came the sinister voice of her mother from the hideous beast’s mouth. Past the grey lips, she could just make out jagged sharp teeth, like fangs. “It’s all too evident where your loyalties lie! Leave now with your man. Leave now and let me rest in peace!”

As her mother lifted the dagger to her own throat, Alex leapt forth with a final cry and twisted her mother’s wrist so that she was forced to drop the knife in her surprise. The gorgon hissed at her and a snake snapped at her arm as this horrid side of her mother slapped her across the mouth, sending her reeling backwards yet again. 

Moments later, Fotini struck the creature hard across its temple with a small ceramic vase. 

The medusa collapsed only to be caught by Olcay who lowered her gently to the floor. Through her tears, Alex watched as the awful thing before her turned to stone—a stone figure wearing a nightdress. The vicious spitting of the snakes died down, the ghastly serpents the last to transform.

“Oh, no!” she screamed, running to her mother, “No, why did you let this happen? Mama, please no! Mama, come back to us! Come back to me! We love you, Mama! I love you! You’re not alone! You’ve never been alone! We need you more than anything! You can’t leave us…” 

Alex buried her face in her mother’s robe despite the feeling of sinking she felt beneath her, as if her mother’s stone body was growing softer. Was it melting?

“Alex!” Fotini said urgently, the quiver of fear apparent, “Get off her at once! She needs to breathe. She’ll be fine, but she needs to breathe.”

After what seemed like ages, Alex drew back from her mother’s wool gown and stared into her face—before her eyes, the hard stone face of the gorgon completed the transformation of the rest of her body. Within moments, the rock and snakes were gone and all that remained was her mother, beautiful and, for the first time since before Alex could clearly remember—peaceful.

With the promise to remain outside the house at all times, Olcay took up the position of watchman while Fotini rinsed out her wound in the tub and then went to sit with Mama whom Olcay had restored to her bedroom. Seeing her wound, Olcay had insisted that she use antibiotic oils to thoroughly cleanse the gash. 

Seeing as they had none in the house, Alex had announced after much protesting from her sister, that she would walk to the village’s pharmaceutical shop and purchase some cleansing herbs and bandages. She knew it was perilous, but she did not want her sister’s health to go bad, if she could help it. After all, it was only about a mile walk and with the war going on, Mr. Eneas was sure to be working late on a weeknight.

After a gentle kiss for Mama, Alex quickly wrapped her hair up in a scarf, retrieved her gold coin from the bottom of the tub where Fotini had just informed her it still lay, and set out into the night.

What really happened that night remained a half-revealed mystery not only to Alex but to Fotini, as well. Alex had been undeniably aware that her mother had become a monster—a fierce beast wilder than any animal, ready to bite and tear at flesh like a lion. 

Only, unlike an animal, she hadn’t acted on instinct but with controlled, direct intentions. Again, Alex was struck with the realization of just how animalistic man could grow, even one who hadn’t even fought in battle. In truth, they were no better than animals. Speech made no difference whatsoever.

Alex could tell that although her sister hadn’t seen or didn’t want to believe that she’d seen something of the kind happen, she too had known that something was greatly amiss.  
One thing was for certain and Alexandra knew this much—she could never really trust her own mama again, not with herself nor with Alex or Fotini.

The news didn’t reach Dimitri and his men until after they’d crossed the border—a sure sign that it was either false or muddled in some way. Most of the remaining soldiers could no longer see straight due to fatigue. Gus, the troop’s timekeeper, was becoming particularly restless.

“They’re lying, you know,” he muttered to Dimitri as they quietly trudged past houses and old campsites. “The Greeks need something to believe in, they need an end in sight. But can a war ever really end?”

“The feelings of bitterness always remain somewhat,” Dimitri conceded him. But he couldn’t bring himself to agree that the news of the war’s end was false—he needed that kind of hope now. But still, it was hard to believe when such word came from fellow infantry rather than from Leonidas himself.

The stench of burning grass grew stronger. Someone sneezed—a child. There was movement in the rubble beside a small, partially collapsed house. Dimitri stopped short and turned to see a shape—no, two shapes—move further behind a fallen trellis.

“Soldiers?” asked Nick.

“I don’t think so,” answered Dimitri as he sprinted slowly over to the lopsided trellis. 

There sat a petite yet frail woman with thick dark hair which she wore in a braid, a beige veil fallen about her shoulders—just like Alex. In her arms, she held a child of about three years. The child, who appeared to be a little boy, stared up at him with large hazel eyes. Not frightened—simply curious. But his mother looked terrified.

Without warning, she began shouting in Turkish and stood up, clutching her son close.  
Dimitri couldn’t believe what happened next. Gus strode forward and grabbed the woman by her tunic, drawing her towards him. In an attempt to pull back, she lost her balance and fell to the ground, luckily managing to keep hold of her son who began to wail.

“Gus, what are you doing?” Dimitri shouted as his fellow soldier bent over and pulled the sobbing boy from his mother’s arms. She scratched at his face but he was stronger. She began to sob along with her son as Gus hurriedly handed the child over to Nick who looked utterly lost.

“No food, eh?” sneered Gus. “Well, let’s see what else you’ve got. What a pity they don’t give any of that machine artillery to women. Makes this a whole lot easier--”

Dimitri thought his heart might stop when his comrade began to tear at the hem of the woman’s skirt. A man he thought he’d known—who he’d had in his command for over three months…a bad temper, yes, but a criminal? He knew Gus to be a bit young to marry but he had a mother. They were all fighting the same war—mother, father, brother, son, daughter, sister—it was all the same and they were all victims. 

Dimitri had had other alleged ravishers in his command before but they’d all fallen before he’d had a chance to witness whether or not they truly performed such deeds…yet he couldn’t imagine someone in his post actually doing the same thing to an innocent woman—to a mother, like Euadne. And this woman’s son would see it all…

With a rasping cry, Dimitri wrenched Gus back by his shoulders and spun him around, holding his pistol under the other man’s chin. 

“You leave her alone!” he shouted between gritted teeth. “There is no reason at all for you to harm her—as you said, she has no weapons, has lost her home, and her son is sitting right there! You have a mother, Gus! Would you want to see that happen to her?”

With the last few words, he jerked on Gus’s collar with his hand before shoving him backwards where he nearly lost balance before righting himself. After a few glances around—first at the frozen woman on the ground, then at his fellow soldier, and then at Dimitri--the young man took off at a jog up the smoky street. The rest of the troop watched until they could see him no more…

After a gesture from Dimitri, Nick walked timidly over to the small woman and awkwardly replaced her son in her arms. The expression in her eyes was unreadable and it frightened both Nick and his captain. 

All was quiet—even the boy’s wheezing sobs had stopped. He coughed a few times but soon, he and his mother had moved back behind the houses and were out of sight.


	14. Alone

Another warm night and the crickets were chirping. It wasn’t chilly in the least, not even a breeze—the early spring showers were due soon so perhaps that was the reason for the stillness.

At the first sound of laughter, Alex began to grow uneasy. The laughter had not been that of mirth, but of gravelly amusement, the laugh of a drunkard. Suddenly, the warm night air didn’t seem so comforting. Her stomach fell a bit as she realized that the path she needed to take in order to reach the medicine shop was lit with several torches—the torches of the laughing men. 

As she turned down the street with a look of bold determination in which her eyes never left the night sky directly in front of her, Alex became aware of no fewer than four men, watching her. Greek men—not the enemy but in their present state, they could pass for so.

“Well, well,” said one man, his words slurred, “What have we here? A little zouzouni?”

“It’s a bit late to be out of bed at this time, isn’t it sweetie?” Crooned the man on his left.

She wouldn’t let them frighten her--she’d been through too much. She needed too much to let them slow her, let alone stop her.

“What’s the matter, miss? Too good for us lowlifes?”

Papa had always warned both her and Fotini to avoid this part of town after sunset.

Pulling her scarf closer around her face for comfort, Alex dearly wished she had some sort of company—anyone at all. But she had to press on, no matter what. Just then, a cool breeze blew around her ankles and she almost felt as though it was shielding her. She could only hope…

Something changed in the air. She could no longer feel the heat of the men’s torches nor smell the bitter scent of their drink. The ‘shield’ around her had thickened, grown stronger, as the hairs on her nape stood on end. 

All at once, the men stopped their jeering, smirks replaced by expressions of pure dread. Then, they turned back to whispering quietly amongst themselves, slowly making their way in the opposite direction. Sighing with relief, Alex made her way to the corner.

Once there, she stopped and lifted her gaze to the dark sky. To the left of the Hermes star there buzzed a lone firefly, its orange light seeming to trail behind it as it sped off into the velvety pitch.

Continuing on, Alex nearly stopped in her tracks again when she saw the girl standing at the other end of the road, directly in her path. Cassandra. The creature grinned, though it hardly seemed threatening anymore. Not in the face of the horrors of humanity.

Raising a finger to her lips, the young woman vanished into the surrounding shadows.

“Thank you,” Alex whispered.

Alex didn’t steal a glance around till she’d turned right around the bend onto the street of Mr. Eneas’s shop. The breeze had come to a stop and when she glanced around, there wasn’t a soul in sight. She couldn’t hear the men anymore either. The only sound in the night was the hoot of an owl off to eat breakfast.

“Good evening, Mr. Eneas,” Alex greeted the older man behind the counter once she’d entered the little shop and removed her scarf, “I hope you are well.”

“As well as anyone can be,” he confirmed with a little chuckle, “bad times of late. And how are you? It’s mighty brave of you to be visiting at such an hour.”

“Fine, thank you. Only my sister’s had an accident—she’s injured herself with a kitchen knife trying to cut an apple and I’d like to purchase some bandages and cleansing oil.”

“Oh, dear,” said Mr. Eneas, “I do hope it isn’t too serious. I’ll fix you up with some soft cotton bandages and—in addition to the antibiotic cream at five drachma, some aloe gel, gratis.”

“Thank you very much,” Alex smiled, “One moment. Here you are.” She removed the golden coin from her shawl pocket and handed it to him.

Mr. Eneas examined the coin in the soft orange glow of the gaslight. Alexandra was almost concerned that if she looked at the elderly shopkeeper too closely, he too might start to resemble some sort of creature. “Alex, do you know what this is?”

“Yes,” she nearly winced, “it’s a rare coin. But it’s gold and I hope it’ll be enough.”

“Alex, I wasn’t referring to its worth—that’s unquestionable. I was speaking in terms of its historical significance. Where’d you find it? Did someone give it to you?”

“My uncle when he visited us from the war. He’d found it one day and thought it looked interesting. They used to be quite common in Ainos, but not anymore, I suppose.” 

Rather smooth, she thought.

“Remarkable,” mused Mr. Eneas, “Well, I thank you very much. I would ask you to keep it but I’m afraid my virtue isn’t that strong. Such a beauty it is.”

“Please, yes, keep it. It’s all I’ve got.”

“Thank you again,” he handed her a roll of cloth bandages, a small container of antibiotic cream, and a small paper package which she supposed contained some aloe leaves.

After a quick good night, Alex replaced her scarf loosely over her hair and started home. 

This time, all the streets were empty, the chiming of the church bells the only sound which penetrated the night.

Meanwhile, the house stood dead quiet. Something wasn’t right. Olcay sensed this and approached Fotini who had just emerged from checking on her mother. Around her arm, she had fastened together two rags from wrist to elbow.

“Something’s wrong,” he told her quietly, “I heard shouting somewhere outside earlier and now it’s all silent. The men were shouting in Turkish.”

Fotini glanced back towards her mother’s door. “I have to keep her safe. Alex should still be far enough away, but Mama--”

“Here, take this,” Olcay removed his dagger from his belt, the one she’d never even seen him use. “Stay in the house. I’ll go outside to see if it’s clear. If they decide to set fire to the house, we’ll have to stop them before they begin. Otherwise, the fire will spread too quickly for us to escape.”

Fotini opened her mouth to protest but he had left before she could manage.

Then she looked down at the dagger in her hands—it was dull silver with a brass blade, nothing like those curved blades she knew the Turks to carry, notorious weapons of Arabian origin. She ran her hand gently over the smooth side of its blade and felt a rush of excitement and fear all at once. This was the first time she’d ever held a real dagger.

Outside, Olcay stalked quietly towards the donkey pen. He tried to keep his breathing as quiet as possible—he knew how stealthy the soldiers could be. He greatly hoped that Fotini was all right…

The soldier’s name was Abdi, a lanky man of no more than 25. Yet in the past three years, he had lost his father who had fought alongside him and his sister had been ravished by Greek men and left for dead. He didn’t even know if she still lived now. He had long since given up caring about the outcome of the war, much less his own life. He just wanted justice.

He knew that killing innocents would be against Allah’s wishes—but surely it was justified when his helpless sister had been ruthlessly attacked. Besides, Zefar was here with him so if he was punished in the afterlife, he wouldn’t be alone.

Speaking of Zefar, where was he? He’d spoken of going around the other side of the house, so Abdi supposed that Zefar would set fire to the house while he would go inside and take any females to avenge theirs.

Drawing his dagger, Abdi tried the front door. It was locked. But the window beside it had no screen. Just thin enough to fit, he climbed over the sill, blade at the ready.

Quiet. Then he heard it—a slight whimper, barely audible. He turned to see a fair-skinned young girl with full red lips. Denying the desire he felt growing within him, the result of months without a woman’s companionship, Abdi decided to simply end her life. He couldn’t stand to take this woman’s dignity, as his sister’s had been taken.

“Shh, my girl,” he soothed in Greek, “My name is Abdi. Look at you, standing all formally for me. Like you have been expecting me.” How oddly she stood with her hands behind her back.

“Please, go,” the girl said as bravely as possible, “Take any food you want but please just leave us be. My mother is very ill.”

“That’s a shame. You certainly look to be in good health.”

And she intended to keep it that way. Slowly, her fear became mixed with a cold rage. She wouldn’t be cut down this easily—she had a role to play in life, for her family. She had seen her reflection in the mirror, had overcome the darkness which had loomed over her.

Her breath catching in her throat, she curled her fingers tightly around the handle of the dagger she held behind her back, keeping the motion small enough so as not to draw his attention.

“Now, now,” he coaxed, “You’re a lucky one, aren’t you? Safe in here while other girls your age and younger are ravished and slain. Such luck rarely lasts forever, you know…”

He took a bold stride forward then and cupped her chin in his hand. How soft the flesh was…and so white in the reflection of the moonlight from the window. Fotini drew a sharp breath as he stroked her cheek.

“Pretty, too. What a shame that…”

Not fully understanding what came over her, Fotini plunged Olcay’s dagger into the soldier’s chest right beneath his neck. Blood poured out but not drastically so as he shrieked in agony—agony which soon turned to fury.

With an angered strength, Abdi threw Fotini to the floor. Her first thought as she hit the ground was that they were far enough away and that her mother still slumbered deeply enough so as not to wake from the noise. Then her mind returned to the moment at hand—she still gripped the dagger in her right hand. And Olcay was right outside. She wasn’t alone.

“Help me!” She screamed as loudly as possible, no longer caring who was woken up. “Please help me!”

The man holding the torch laughed at him coolly. “No weapons? You should have joined us, my boy. What are you doing standing guard by a Greek house?”

Olcay took notice of the soldier’s obvious limp as he took a step forward. He would have to attack soon, weapon or not, but he wouldn’t have a chance while the man was facing him.

“Please,” he replied in Turkish, “Just leave. We’ve already won the entire coast. It’s ours now. There are more dead than alive, believe me. This one house—the people in it are good. You’re hearing this from your fellow Turk. Just leave them be.”

“You’re a funny one. It’s people like you—with your mercy and cowardice—who could never avenge a loved one. What a pity for you.” And then, he turned away and began to lumber towards the front door of the house.

Olcay was dumbstruck but it didn’t last long…the martyr’s back was turned. What a pity it was for him.

Without another thought, Olcay leapt upon the soldier from behind. The man yelled and dropped his torch which thankfully did not set fire to the dirt surface below. Olcay spared only a fraction of a second’s glimpse to see to that before the soldier pulled his pistol from his belt. 

A shot rang out in the night—it had been so long since he’d heard one that close that Olcay had nearly forgotten the intensity of the noise. Shutting his eyes tight as they fell to the ground, Olcay thrust his arms around the man’s neck and squeezed with all his might. After a few hoarse wheezes, the soldier’s grip loosened and Olcay grabbed the gun as quickly as he could and yanked it from the hand of the martyr.

“No use, precious,” Abdi strained to maintain his calm despite his pained state, “No one will hear you. All your neighbors are either dead or dying—not so lucky now, are we?”

Then he bent over her. Fotini slashed at him with the dagger only to have it slapped out of her hand with his own. Crouching over her so that she was forced to lie flat, he placed the dagger at her throat. Somewhere outside, a gunshot pierced the air. Fotini bit her lip so hard that the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth.

“Brave thing you are—what a fire you have.”

Fotini's eyes widened. She simply could not afford to die. Mama and Alex needed her.

“Oh, let’s take care of that…” with that, Abdi leaned down and licked the blood from Fotini's lower lip, pinning her wrists down with his hands. Fotini felt as though she would be sick.

Outside, Olcay grasped the pistol and backed away quickly, aiming straight at the martyr. With a few steps back and then a sigh of defeat, the man turned and ambled away, still coughing from when Olcay had held him by the throat.

Resetting the pistol, Olcay ran for the house where Fotini's screams rang out. He hoped more than anything that he wasn’t too late…

Panting and still obviously weak from his wound, Abdi attempted to grab her throat. His deep brown eyes looked almost black, so different from Olcay’s. Where was Olcay?  
No tears were contained now—she shrieked and screamed and wailed. And she was heard.

Abdi’s hoarse breath was drowned out by the ear-splitting echo of a gunshot. Blood gushing from the side of his head, Abdi’s body collapsed on top of Fotini's, renewing her screams.

“Shh!” Olcay soothed as he ran to help Fotini in her struggle to escape from beneath the body of the fallen soldier. “You’re safe now. There are no more. His partner’s gone. I’m here now, Fotini. I’m so sorry that it got this far.”

With a sob, Fotini wrapped her arms around Olcay and buried her face in his chest. She just wanted to keep her eyes shut tight, to block out that man’s face and everything else—to cry and cry and not be disturbed until she fell asleep.

Alex returned to find Olcay hauling a body out of the doorway. Fotini just stood and stared, the gash on her arm evident via the red that soaked through the shred of cloth she’d used as a makeshift bandage. Fresher blood was spattered across her cheek but it didn’t appear to be her own.

“What happened?” asked Alex, “Is Mama all right?”

“Fine,” said Fotini, not unkindly, “it didn’t even wake her, the poor thing.”

“What didn’t? What happened?”

“Some Turkish soldiers tried to set the house on fire,” Olcay explained as he knelt and laid the dead man’s jacket over his face. “Martyrs. They’re the only ones who would dare to fight with such a scarcity of weapons. One went for Fotini and I stopped him. His partner ran after he was stabbed.”

Fotini was thankful that Olcay had refrained from explaining what had almost happened in detail—her sister didn’t need any more fright just now.

Alex couldn’t believe it. So much had happened and it seemed that she’d been out for such a short while. At least they were all right…

The following morning, the rain began, a light drizzle. The clouds loomed overhead, a threatening grey, as the courier ran around to the houses asking if anyone knew someone by the name of Lydia Kostas. She was nineteen years old and had been attacked and mugged on her way home from the fish market before an officer had arrived and shot his gun, scaring away the brutes.

“Where did this happen?” Alex asked the courier.

“On the avenue adjacent to the street where the Church stands.”

Alex didn’t want to believe it—but there it was. The same street where she had encountered the men—the same men.

“Did they arrest the men?” she asked.

“Yes,” answered the courier solemnly, “for all the good it did. The bastards didn’t stop there, though. Too proud to shut up even behind bars. Word is they’d almost attacked another girl earlier that same night in another part of town. She was younger, they said—but she’d been walking with a dark figure at her side. They couldn’t make out his face. One minute he was here, the next gone—and the girl with him. Curious thing. What a terrible shame for Lydia…”

Lydia Kostas, nineteen years old…Alex was sure she’d be sick from the guilt. Excusing herself from both the courier and her sister’s presence, she went straight to bed. 

In her haste, Alex missed the only positive piece of news brought by the courier: the war had ended. There were still martyrs of both sides roaming about, but other than that, the fighting had ceased. The Turks had won, but neither Olcay nor Fotini cared in the least.

As Alex lay down to bed, she couldn’t help but regret not having said goodbye to Olcay. She knew her sister would have to dismiss him tonight, before Mama awoke—and she found that she would miss their games of Thanassis and Kseri late at night when she couldn’t sleep. She was awfully glad for someone who had the patience to stay up with her, as Fani certainly hadn’t. 

Alex remembered fondly when Olcay had first told her how similar Kseri was to the Turkish card game of Pişti. He’d even shown her some useful tactics based upon the strategies of his native game. Alex had marveled then at how strikingly comparable war was to a game—a simple contest over land, riches—even love, as had been the Trojan War. It was a planned out game in which men murdered each other without a thought and the survivors were labeled the winners. It was such an ancient practice which so many more hated than favored and yet it happened everywhere all the time, adapted to fit in with the celebrations of life and love, as had happened when the English, French, and German soldiers had set down their rifles and enjoyed Christmas Eve together, only to resume fighting the following dawn.

The reality of just how premeditated it all seemed made Alex feel physically ill.  
After the courier left, Fotini prepared herself to do what she knew she must. However, it wasn’t until she recalled that it was now the ninth that she realized Alex’s birthday had been today—and she’d completely forgotten about it. She almost felt like weeping from the guilt—her sister had always remembered her birthday, and she still had the beaded necklace Alex had given her last year. 

Yet Alex hadn’t even bothered to remind her…was she really that concerned about not bothering her sister?

Fotini inwardly cursed herself. She really was too hard on Alex at times even when she needed it—which she often did. It had just been so confusing and everything seemed to be happening so fast--still, that was absolutely no excuse to forget her sister’s birthday…

So knowing that it would only delay her parting with Olcay, Fotini decorated some parchment with flower petals from the vase in the kitchen and glue paste for a makeshift birthday greeting. She knew it wasn’t much but she didn’t know how long it would be till she could shop for more supplies.

Then as she leaned down and placed the card on Alex’s bedside table, she whispered gently in her ear: “Happy birthday, angel.”

Just as Mama had used to do with them both.

Summoning Olcay silently from her bedroom, she threw her arms around him and began to cry, the first time she’d let anyone see her tears in a long time.

“What’s wrong, Fani?” Olcay asked, alarmed. It didn’t take him long. “I must go now, yes?”

“Yes,” she sobbed quietly, “you heard the courier’s other news—about the war drawing to a close. Now there’s no excuse for you to linger here. It’ll be safer for you now and you simply cannot be anywhere near here when my mother wakes up.” 

Even now, she despised the utter logical tone of her words despite her tears.

“You’re right,” murmured Olcay as he took her hands, “Let’s make it a quick goodbye, all right? It won’t be easy so let’s try and spare each other too much strife. Would you say goodbye to Alex for me? Tell her that her spirit will lead her to many places and win her many battles…as for you, I believe we will meet again someday—perhaps on a ship to America?” 

He smiled at her and she embraced him one last time.

Even Fotini was surprised at her next action. She kissed him, kissed him all of her own accord. In response, Olcay entwined his arms around her lower back.

“Thank you,” she whispered softly in his ear, “thank you for everything.” 

She wasn’t just referring to how he’d saved their home, but simply the fact that he’d been there for her—to talk whenever she needed and to listen. That was more than she’d had to be thankful about for the past three years of her life…

“Thank you,” he replied.

The moment seemed to go one forever.

When he pulled back, it was to speak: “Seni seviyorum.”

Fotini drew back gently, confusion plain on her face. “I don’t believe we covered that in our Turkish lessons,” she tried to lighten up the mood a bit.

He smiled at her again, and Fani was reminded of the night she’d first found him and he’d smiled at being mistaken for a Greek. “S’agapo.” 

Then he was gone.

He’d told her he loved her—he was gone now, the enemy of a war no longer being fought. Her mother could now rest at ease.

Upon reentering the house, the final matter Fotini tended to before bed was her hair. Despite having washed up since the Turkish soldiers had attacked their home, she swore she could still feel that martyr’s blood in her tresses. 

Taking a kitchen knife, she trimmed off her shoulder-length locks so they ended at her earlobes. 

Then she lay down and shit her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep before the events of the past day had a chance to sink in. 

He was finally out of their lives—and she had never felt more alone.


	15. The Choice

The following day, Alex was simply ecstatic to find that her sister had remembered her birthday—and that the war was over.

Giving the hand-crafted card a light kiss, she placed it in the drawer of her night table for safe keeping.

Then, after breakfast, she read to Mama for nearly three hours. Fotini had taken care to wear her sleeved tunic today to hide her dressed wound.

After inquiring about the Turk, she and Fani had assured their mother that nothing of the sort had happened and that she must have been having a nightmare—sleepwalking, perhaps. The bruise on her head must have come when she'd fallen during her sleep. It was only until Mama had gone back to sleep that Fotini had taken the knife from beneath her pillow and buried it in the backyard.

After she’d finished reading to Mama and began to rise from the bed to let her sleep, her mother suddenly grasped her wrist.

“Alex—Alexandra,” she said with that far away look in her dark brown eyes, staring more past her daughter than at her, “you’ll never leave me, will you? Please promise me this.”

Alex swallowed. “Of course, I promise, Mama. I’ve told you before.”

“I know you have. It’s just been so—difficult. I feel like I can’t depend on anyone anymore. Not even myself. In my dream, I tried to do away with myself because I was so frightened of being alone. I’m afraid I’ll always be alone no matter who’s with me. I just can’t seem to—to live without constant, gnawing uncertainty…this fear.”

Alex felt a smile tugging at her lips but it was not one of happiness. It was just a façade like most everything else she constructed around herself when with Mama—her default mode of comfort. She had to appear happy just for her mother to survive…

“You needn’t be afraid, Mama,” she coaxed, embracing her mother, “I know my words mean little after all you’ve been through—but we’ll always be there for you. No matter what.”

Alex settled down into bed that night after finally finishing up the Odyssey. She wondered what it must feel like to embark on a quest so wonderful that once you returned home, you found it wasn’t enough anymore. 

How she dearly wished that she could have known men like Homer—like Socrates. Men who were knowledgeable but wished not to flaunt that knowledge, only to share it. Alex just hoped that if she ever grew up to be such a person, she wouldn’t suffer the same fate as Socrates. It disgusted her how society dealt with those who stood out—who didn’t follow the crowd directly, regardless of the benefits on the parts of the society which lay in that person’s presence.

She knew she shouldn’t stay up late lest she fall asleep in making breakfast the next morning and burn herself on the stove again—but she couldn’t rest easily knowing what had happened to Lydia Kostas. She had been attacked, not by Turkish soldiers but by men from her own country, from her own village. Alex hadn’t even known the girl and still she couldn’t help feeling responsible for her somehow. Here she had this great power on her side and for some reason, he seemed to only want to protect her…

When Alex finally lay down to sleep, all the events of the past three years came flooding back, particularly those after her first meeting with him. Those first encounters seemed so long ago...

Her tortoise, the coin, the hydra beast, the olive which had started it all—which had somehow awoken his spirit unto her.

The war was over. As far as she knew, her uncle was still alive, and she could only hope he would remain as lucky until he reached home. She couldn’t wait for the knock on the door—to see his smiling face again. That was all she prayed for now—even though she was no longer sure to whom she was praying. She’d been attending church when possible, as always, but the Masses had become a serious bore rather than simply a tolerable necessity. She was simply too torn anymore…

Her mother was safe, at least for now—safe from her own hand as well as the hand of others. She was happy for that if not for the fact that she knew she could never leave without destroying Mama. And Fotini, as well. Despite it all, however, she was so grateful that he’d warned her about her mother’s attempted suicide—but what of the fourth message? No matter, she was much too exhausted to wonder over it now…

So, for the first time in a very long while, Alexandra fell into a deep sleep, the gentle tapping of the rain on the roof playing like a sweet melody in her ears.

Dimitri trudged up the hill, the last one before he’d be back in Ainos for good and just in time for Easter. He’d dismissed Nick and the rest of his men yesterday morning and had spent the remainder of the journey home on foot, stopping only to sleep in the safety of the shrubbery lining the road.

He was well aware of the various martyrs still lurking around near the abandoned campsites and battle sites, posting up Turkish flags even where the land still belonged to the Greeks…

After the Turkish army led by Commander Mustafa Kemal had defeated the remaining Greek forces at Smyrna, the newly-founded Turkish government had claimed Western Anatolia as its own and the war ended under the Treaty of Lausanne, signed in Lausanne, Switzerland—several thousand kilometers from where the two nations had fought. The conflict had spread beyond unforeseeable limits…it truly had been the Great War.

Yes, the Turks had won and the town of Ainos, as well as all the other surrounding villages which lined the Eastern Aegean, had now become a part of Anatolia—Enez was the new name of his village...

But none of that mattered quite so much anymore. Dimitri was alive and he would be there to care for his family, at last. He just hoped that now that the Turks had won their war, they would leave in peace the Greeks who lived within Turkish territory. 

His country was beautiful and he had to swallow hard to hold back the tears which threatened to spring forth from the shock that he had actually made it home—he’d made it after so many men hadn’t, he’d be home after so many families would never be able to kiss their loved ones again—sons, husbands, fathers, brothers...

Everything now seemed brighter somehow, more luminous as if he was an innocent child again playing at the shore on a sunny day. What a miracle it was to survive war…

Somehow, and he planned to find out soon—he would send Fotini and Alex too, if she wished, to America so that they could live a better life. Euadne…he would help her as much as he could now that he’d be home full time, but he didn’t know how much good it would do. 

He just felt guilty that no one had been there to prevent her subjection to such horror. And the effects it must have had on the girls, particularly Alex—she had been so young…and Fani had needed to care for them all for the past three years as both a daughter and a mother. And the fright they would have had to endure over seeing their mother in such a state…

Needless to say, he was quite appreciative for the slow drizzle which had begun again, as he still had at least a mile of road to walk before he reached home and the humidity made his skin feel dreadfully sticky.

Stopping to wipe the sweat from his brow, he glanced around at the silent picture of destruction before him—dead goats, dead soldiers, the street before him lined with ruined houses, burned almost to the ground in the recent village raids. Even from about ten yards away, he had to swat at the flies which buzzed around the carnage.

Dimitri hoped to God that the girls and their mother were safe. He didn’t know what he’d do without them—the guilt would be too much to bear.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Dimitri continued on his way, just as the church bells began to chime the hour. It was nearly dawn and the rain was beginning to fall harder.

Alex was dreaming. He was there…

“It’s hurting your sister, you know,” he said, “Olcay’s departure—particularly the fact that it was she who had to initiate it. She knows it was for the best—for her mother and for Olcay--yet it pains her greatly, nonetheless. You asked if she was ever touched by anything beyond the waking world…her memories of him will haunt her dreams for many nights to come.”

“I wish he could have stayed, too,” sighed Alex, “we all knew he’d have to leave sooner or later and perhaps it should have been sooner and we could have spared the trouble with Mama—but still, I wish he could have stayed a bit longer. To be with us in peacetime and to spend time with Fani without the constant threat of war—the fact that they were supposed to be enemies.”

“Of course.”

It was odd, she realized. Just now, she could only hear his voice in the darkness of their bedroom. She could hear his gentle voice in a sort of unison with her sister’s steady breathing. So it must not be a dream—she must be only half asleep and in a haze.

Idly she was aware of the absence of Olcay’s breathing. She had grown so accustomed to his sleeping in their room that she’d forgotten for a time what it was like to hear only Fotini's breathing. His scent—that odd, cinnamon smell of a young man—was all that lingered of his presence. 

Alex didn’t mind though, it was better than the stench of fish which had wafted through the house the whole time Fani had been working at her job several months earlier.

That was when a weight came to rest on the edge of her bed and she felt a warm hand take her own. She felt his breath just below her ear and it made her shiver slightly. How could someone like him seem so—human?

“You must try not to be frightened, Alex,” he soothed as if he could read her emotions in the darkness, which he inevitably could, “You must be brave at this time—or at least exhibit courage when you feel afraid. The time is quickly approaching for me to deliver to you my final message and…”

“What?” Alex was fully awake now and no longer whispering though still speaking softly so as not to wake her sister. “I thought that the war was over. What’s the final message?”

“The war is over,” he replied, “but not the hostility. The martyrs are still out there, three outside of Ainos. Your uncle is on his way home and that’s what they’re waiting for. These are men who do not care so much that their people have won the war—only that their wives and children were slaughtered by Greek men, and now they want all the revenge they can take. They fear nothing, not even for their own lives. They’re waiting to ambush any survivors who have returned home now that the war has ended.”

“Where are they?” asked Alex in a frantic whisper, finally sitting up. “Can you stop them? How can we save my uncle?”

“You will have to run. Run as fast as you can, just as Pheidippides ran from Marathon to Athens to give news of the approaching Persians.”

Alex swallowed. She knew the story of Pheidippides well—how he had died from exhaustion after delivering his message…

All at once, lightning crackled across the sky outside, the momentary flash illuminating his face—he looked so solemn, his expression frightening Alex for perhaps the first time—and then he was gone. Alex’s now empty hand suddenly felt freezing in the cold breeze from the slightly open window, as if no one had ever been holding it.

She saw her uncle then, before her eyes as if in a vision. He was just passing by the church. On the house across the road a Turkish flag was flying in the storm, the bright white crescent moon and star in a sea of red illuminated by a flash of lightning.

She didn't even bother to dress. In the next moment, Alex had locked her mother and sister in the house and prepared to take off down the street…

When the house across the street caught her eye. It was Vasili's house and it was burnt to the earth. 

Suddenly, Alexandra felt as though she were struggling to breathe underwater. She couldn’t recall the last time it hadn’t been destroyed. As if seeing the scorched home for the first time, a flood of memories bombarded Alex.

They never let her see the bodies. It was too soon after Papa’s death. Yet she now recalled the funeral. How she’d been numb through the whole ordeal. 

Vasili had never made it out. His family hadn’t lived. He hadn’t escaped either. He had perished in that first fire nearly four years back.

Still grief-stricken from the loss of Papa, she must have blocked it all out. But how? He was her best friend. 

She felt something soft against her ankles and looked down. Feathers. That same lone hen from when she’d first met the shepherd on the hill. 

Collapsing to her knees, Alex howled and broke down…

She truly couldn’t recall at the moment what it was she was supposed to do. Her father had been killed and her best friend had died.

But not her uncle. Dimitri was alive. She had to set aside her feelings and get to him now. 

When she glanced around, the hen was nowhere in sight. Alexandra ran. 

 

Dimitri froze as he took in the Turkish flag. Martyrs were near. Then, as if on cue, a gunshot rang in the night like a sharp crack of lightning. With a burst of speed he hadn’t thought he could muster, Dimitri was running through the rain and darkness towards the hills which lined the coast.

Alexandra arrived at the church moments after her uncle had run from the shot, squinting her eyes in an attempt to see past the slanted rain.

“Dimitri!” she called, not caring if she was heard. “Uncle, I’m here by the church! Please answer me!”

“Biraz yunanca kız…” came a voice from behind her. She turned to see two men, one burly and rather hairy and the other a bit younger, perhaps not a few years older than Olcay. The burly one had his pistol aimed at her, grinning.

“No, please…” she began. She was silenced when the soldier aimed his weapon at the sky and let off a deafening shot. Alex yelped and threw her hands over her ears. Never before had she heard a gunshot so clearly. It was deafening.

“Listen, girl,” he said in thickly-accented Greek, “We are nice men, not monsters as you may think. We are simply angry over your people killing our families. But you are young. We will give you thirty seconds to escape before we come after you. It is a long time. Be quick and you may just manage it. You will not want to have our friend, Ibrahim, return and join us in the chase. He’s lost both his wife and daughter to Greek men and has come back with us. He is the most furious of us all. So, you will run and we will count, for thirty seconds only. You hear?”

Alex nodded, suddenly aware that she was now panting, the cool air moving in and out of her lungs like intangible ocean water…

In the next moment, she was running again, feet squelching in the mud until she turned onto the stone path that would eventually lead to the shore. Again, she thrust her hands over her ears to drown out the sound of the burly man counting behind her.

As his companion counted, the younger man shouted out: “Kos, aşk!”

Alex recognized the word aşk as a term of endearment used by the Turks from having spent time with Olcay. Though she knew that it wasn’t meant kindly in this instance, and that just frightened her even more as she ran for her life. 

A language she’d never thought she’d have anything to do with and now it was all coming after her—she and her sister had betrayed their mother, no doubt. Up late at night learning Turkish phrases, playing Turkish games…

Their voices were drowned out by the wind as Alex turned the corner of Mr. Eneas’s shop, the darkness still thick enough to conceal most of the tragic wreckage around her as well as the path on which she ran. In her haste, she nearly slipped in the mud, drenching her nightgown in thick muck. She righted herself quickly but not before catching a glimpse of a severed arm in the light from the small sliver of moon peeking through the storm clouds.

With a small whimper, Alex leapt over the body and sprinted the rest of the way to the foot of the hill on which stood the temple and the giant olive tree. Somewhere not far off, lightning struck the earth, followed by a rumble of thunder as if Zeus himself sought to wreak his vengeance upon the devils who pursued her—who pursued his people. Making her way up the steep slope, it wasn’t long before Alexandra could make out the outline of the large temple at its top, a mere shadow against the grey promise of the approaching dawn.

Dimitri had come to what looked like the ruins of an old temple, the weak moonlight shining softly upon its roof. He hadn’t remembered ever seeing one so close to the village, but then again he had started to notice so much more lately since surviving the war. 

It greatly angered him that the fighting still couldn’t stop completely, the danger still lingering. He desperately hoped that he’d lost the martyrs and could some way make it back home in one piece. He wouldn’t let those beasts lay a finger on any of his loved ones…but could he really control fate?

Odd—a second observation interrupted his angered thoughts as he entered the temple. Over half of the pew seats were scorched as if they’d caught fire. 

At the center of the great, dome-shaped chamber there stood an enormous olive tree. Its roots spread all the way out to where he stood in the entrance. 

Glancing up, he saw a sphere of space cut into the stone just above the top of the tree. Through it, the rain splattered onto the leaves of the tree, supplying it with water. The sound of wind through the hole made an eerie wailing sound that flowed throughout the entire structure.

Alex clambered up the hill through the soaked grass as fast as her legs would go. The temple hadn’t disappeared. He had to be there—he simply had to be…

She ran inside the temple and began calling up to the sphere in the dome-shaped ceiling above, calling to him by name for the first time. When she received no answer, she ran back outside.

The reason for her haste nearly forgotten, Alex began to call out his name again, willing her voice to make itself heard over the steady roar of the wind blowing in from the sea. 

However, her cries were soon drowned out by the next crash of lightning and its ensuing rumble of thunder tumbling through the dark clouds. Still, she refused to give up.

 

That was when he heard the shouting—it was Alex. Wasting no time, Dimitri ran outside to find her, gown mud-soaked, hair disheveled, and face red with tears which were nearly indistinguishable from the rain that streaked her cheeks. 

Then, just as quickly, he stopped. It was as if she didn’t even see him. She didn’t glance at him but instead kept calling out a name which was lost in the wind but he could hear it well enough to know that it wasn’t his own.

“Alex!” he cried as he ran up to her and spun her around. “Quiet, they’ll hear you! The martyrs! Are you all right? We must get home and lock the doors! Come with me now, I’ll get us back safely—who were you calling for?”

Alex’s expression was unreadable for a moment. “He’ll be here for us,” she said quietly, “Just wait here. Go inside the temple. And he’ll come.”

“Alex, what do you mean?”

“He’s always been there for me. He’ll come now, I’m sure of it.”

He? Dimitri was utterly at a loss.

Suddenly, Alex’s eyes lit up in terror. “Dimitri, look out!”

Dimitri turned just in time to leap away from the soldier who let forth a strangled cry of rage, bringing down his curved blade into the space where the other man’s head had been but a moment earlier.

Grabbing his handgun from his belt, Dimitri took aim and shot the man’s blade from his grip. He almost regretted leaving his rifle with Nick.

“Run, Alex!” he screamed just in time to see two other shapes appear in the dense sheet of rain before them.

As one of the two newly-arrived men began barking orders in Turkish too rapidly for him to understand, Dimitri was consumed with an utter sense of fear and, for the first time in a while, complete and total helplessness—helplessness because he now realized that he could not confidently secure the safety of his niece. Not with one of him against three of them.

He just hoped that she’d run fast enough to make it home alive—if there was any justice at all in the world, she would.

With a strangled cry of his own, Dimitri took advantage of the soldiers’ current distracted state and, without any further thought, shot the two who stood on his left. As they’d committed no personal crime against him, he let them die mercifully with instant blows to the head, just as a few of his own men had gone down. Clenching his jaw, he turned away just in time to see the two men fall and begin to roll down the side of the steep hill, each one following his own separate path down the slippery slope.

Had Alex gotten away?

Dimitri turned from the two men he’d killed to see the third soldier reaching down for his blade. Walking over abruptly, Dimitri took the man by surprise and knocked the sword out of his hand with the butt of his handgun. No sooner had the man been ridded of his blade that he let out a shout of irritation and kicked Dimitri swiftly in the kneecap, causing him to collapse from the momentary shock, dropping his weapon.

“Hey, you!” Alex called up from partway down the hillside, “down here! It’s me you want! Come and get me! I know you can’t run and catch me, you dog!”

Dimitri was petrified. Dear God, she was taunting the soldier.

Taking the opportunity now that Dimitri was down, the Turkish martyr grabbed his sword from the wet grass and set off after Alex whose escape down the hillside had been hindered by the falling bodies of the dead soldiers in the darkness.

Recovering from a slight fall, Alex turned and gasped as the martyr knocked her hard over the head with the hilt of his sword.

After scrambling in the dark for a few moments, Dimitri couldn't locate his handgun. In a cry of rage, he unintentionally let his presence behind the man be known so that the martyr turned swiftly and shot Dimitri in the shoulder. Alex’s uncle yelled in pain as blood began to trickle from the wound.

“Run, Alex!” Dimitri called when she started to run back to help him. “I’ll be fine! I’ll follow you in a bit. Just get out of here!”

Reluctantly, Alex took off down the hillside once again, running as fast as she could in her dizzy state.

Soon, Dimitri was hot on the soldier’s trail as he ran after Alex. Feeling about to collapse, Alex knew what she had to do. Having just reached the cliff’s edge by the sea, she rotated to glance up at the martyr hurtling toward her. 

As he raised his blade, only a breadth away from her, she smiled sweetly and stepped just a hair to the side. With a strangled cry, the soldier toppled over the edge and joined his comrades in the darkness below.

Further up the hill, Dimitri was still hurrying to his niece. Panting heavily and holding his arm, he glanced wildly around only to be met with silence, save for the pelting of the large raindrops on the hillside. They were gone—it was over. At last…

“Alex!” Dimitri called out to his niece, grimacing at the agony shooting through his entire right arm, “That’s the last of them! We’re safe, precious! Answer me if you can. Please—Alex.”

But she was too far down the hillside to hear him now and even the strain from his calling began to take its toll on her uncle’s remaining strength. After a last failed attempt at trying to stand upright, Dimitri collapsed into unconsciousness.

Meanwhile, Alex’s vision was becoming blurry as she stumbled again to the edge of the cliff. Her forehead hurt and as she reached up to tenderly touch the wound, her fingers grazed wetness thicker than the beads of rain. Blood.

With a last glance up at the temple, Alex tried to call out to her uncle but it was no use. 

After a moment, her knees buckled and she fell over the edge of the cliff. The last thought that registered before she began her free-fall was Cassandra's mauve face smiling down at her from slightly up the hill.

Alexandra couldn’t recall having any fright as she fell, though she was moving faster than she ever had save for her flight with him. Only now she wasn’t sure anyone was there to prevent her from crashing into the sea. How far down was it? Were there any rocks? Where was Cassandra? She was simply too fatigued to consider it all…

The air was not cold but warm as it rushed past her so fast that she could barely feel the rain brush past her cheeks. Her nightdress flew out on all sides like a white halo, its cloth rippling and her breathing the only disturbance of the serene silence.

She was aware that the sky above was brightening to welcome the dawn, the grey giving way to a gentle violet. Odd how she could notice that when she was falling so fast. Perhaps she wasn’t truly falling, but flying?

Then she hit the water. She heard the splash but couldn’t really feel it—her senses were too distant. Soon she could sense its tepid embrace around her and somehow didn’t want it to stop. Because it wasn’t really cool, but the perfect temperature, like the water of a bath—an enormous, infinite bath. 

The sky above her was now so clear and it was beautiful. Her hair floated out around her head as a mild stream of blood ran its way down her right cheek, just avoiding her eye. She hadn’t the strength or the will to wipe it away and was grateful as the tinkling of the lyre once again began to play like a soothing lullaby in the morning sea air.

Turning her head to stare into the first sign of light over the horizon, that was when Alex heard his voice, smooth and clear as if it spoke to her from everywhere—from the approaching dawn, from the cliffs high above, from the very waves which now surrounded her, threatening to pull her out to sea.

“It’s all right now, Alex,” he said, and at the sound of his voice, Alex turned her gaze back to the high cliff on which stood the temple. His encouragement reminded her of her uncle’s words from earlier. Where was Dimitri? Was he all right? She shouldn’t have left him. Why did she leave him? What a coward she was! Where had he been when she needed him most?

“Alex—Alexandra, listen to me. Your uncle is fine. I refrained from coming to your aid because I had no need when Dimitri was there. He is just as much a hero as I. And he was there to save you, as you saved him. It is time to make a decision for yourself now, Alex. For the past three years, you have been wonderful to your mother—an amazingly dedicated and loving daughter and she loves you very much. I know it’s not your wish to remain here, however, in a place with such memory of grief and responsibility. You have the choice to escape now if you’d like…”

“I can’t swim!” Alex tried to cry but it came out only as a whisper. “I’ll float out to sea!”

“Shh,” he soothed her, “you know I’d never let anything happen to you. You’re safe in the hands of Poseidon.”

If one were standing at that moment on the edge of the cliff from which Alex had fallen, they could look down to see a figure floating far below, near the base of the tall rock—only that figure wasn’t washed out to sea, but stayed right where it was, its limbs moving slightly as if it were suspended in the water by something underneath—or as if an invisible hand held it in place.

“You’ve done so well, Alex,” continued the sweet voice from all around, “You’ve helped your family in immeasurable ways. Your high spirits have done so much for everyone you know, your mother included. You encouraged your sister to care for and befriend a young man who was supposed to be her enemy, thus proving the potential genuineness in everyone regardless of background. You made her realize her true feelings and acknowledge a part of herself that she had been denying for so long—her own emotions and, in doing so, rescued a good person in Olcay. You stopped your uncle and his men from marching to their deaths…and you saved your mother’s life.”

“But you helped me do all that,” Alex protested, “Your messages—you told me what to do.”

“I was only there to advise, Alex,” he went on, “but it was your decision to listen to me. It was your passionate belief in the stories and pride in your culture against those who sought to destroy it. If you’d fancied me a simple illusion, that would have caused you to doubt yourself even more. But you didn’t--you trusted me and therefore, you trusted yourself. Your relied on yourself to face ancient beasts, fire itself and even your own family in a moment of destruction.

“And this is what helped both you and all of your loved ones in the end. The knowledge that, beyond a doubt, you were capable of wonders for the sake of your family and your homeland.. But now, it’s your turn. It’s been a while since you’ve been given a chance to decide your own fate—but I’m giving you such an opportunity now: We are all so proud of you, Alexandra. We wouldn’t mind taking you in if you feel it’s the time—if you feel that fifteen is a fine age at which to end…”

Just then, a tall golden gate stood before her as if she were gazing up at it. They were there…

Alex couldn’t see their faces, but she could feel their presence. All of them standing in a great hall lined with tall white pillars, a place on a mountain far higher than she ever could have imagined. The structure of pillars bore no roof and she glanced up in wonder at the beautiful sapphire blue of the sky above. Soft clouds floated among the great marble columns and around her body. 

She could feel the beautiful creatures—his brethren--smiling at her while carrying on conversation at the same time, their auras shimmering by some unseen means of luminescence, their voices echoing like different melodies played all at once. The great divinities who had helped her ancestors in the days of old were still here now, watching over…

Here, there was no blood, no hate—as she reached up to touch her wound, her prior thoughts were confirmed when her fingers retrieved no blood. Instead, she pulled forth the olive branch from behind her ear, the gift she’d received that wonderful night. Somehow it had followed her here from its spot beneath her pillow. 

On her body she wore a soft white toga of what felt like pure cotton, the material fixed at her shoulder with a golden clasp and as she looked at her own hands and bare feet, she realized that she now glowed like all of them…

Was this how it had been for Hercules to reunite with Zeus and Hera? What about Eurydice after she’d fallen to her death? Was this where she’d gone after her visit to Hades? Again, the same question formed in her mind: Why her?

Then he came into her vision, the most beautiful of them all, his eyes sparkling as the wings on both his petasos and boots fluttered like hummingbirds. He reached out his hand and she took it. As he settled gently at her level, she reached up with her other hand to stroke his cheek. That was when the scene changed—

All at once, she was in his arms again and it was all dark save for the golden glow of his skin. It was cold but she somehow couldn’t feel it because his warmth around her was much too great. She glanced up past his face at the only light that came in from a spherical opening above, like the one in the roof of the temple. Her face was still clean of blood but she was frightened nonetheless.

“You have the choice to come join us in your youth—I can release you now and let you float out to sea where you will soon enter the underworld, this dark place. It will eventually be light again once you arrive to us, but it will first be fearful.”

Deep in the inky blackness below them, Alex could hear the ferocious barking of a giant hound—Kerberos, the three-headed guardian of Hades. Tears filled her eyes as she clutched onto her porter’s luminous shoulder. Until now, she had overlooked the most unique of his responsibilities—the guide of the dead on their way to the underworld. He was the only one able to walk in each of the three worlds…

And how could he glow in such darkness? It had to be a miracle, a miracle which she couldn’t let slip by.

Just now she could see the faint movement of a river down below. It was the River Styx, its banks covered in a grey mist. Once one crossed that river, there was no turning back.

“If you wish to come with us, you will be effortlessly free from the burden of caring for your mother and all the other responsibilities and unknown aspects of the world. Or you can choose to live, to return to your family and live the long life which lies ahead of you. Not many have the liberty to choose to live, especially in a time of war. 

“But the war is now over and you do have a choice. If you so choose to return to those who love you, I will instill in you the strength you need to swim ashore. Whichever choice you make, let it be the right one for you. No one else’s wishes matter at this moment, only yours.”

At first, Alex was hesitant. She so wanted to be rid of the guilt from her mother’s unhappiness. But she knew very well that her mother would surely be lost without her. The gods of Olympus had been smiling at her with fondness, but her family would surely smile at her with love. And he was right—Hermes, the messenger god who now held her in his arms, was right. 

They needed her, all of them—Dimitri, Fotini, and Mama. They all deserved to be spared any more loss, particularly Dimitri who had risked his own life to keep her safe.

But would Papa and Vasili be waiting for her?

It would be so easy to just give in, right there—never to be in danger or frightened, oppressed because of her gender and expected to spend her life knitting and cooking for a family…never to trouble anyone again with her clumsiness. 

After all, she had lived for so long with the fear of the war, the fear for her mother—and now that it was over, she wasn’t sure she knew how to live otherwise…so why not just let go now, to spend eternity in a realm of everlasting summer….

Unless all mortals went to the Underworld…surely he could still visit her?

As if to reassure her, Hermes laid a gentle kiss upon her lips, although she couldn’t see him.

“Choose wisely, Alexandra,” his words echoed in her mind. “That is my final message.”

Alexandra was nearly blinded by the re-manifestation of the sunrise before her which was now nearly at full bloom. The water now felt more like a cradle rocking than a vast expanse of tumultuous currents. The morning sunlight had already caused the trickle of blood to encrust upon her face, the wound no longer freshly bleeding. 

The rain had diminished to a light drizzle, falling around her in a gentle shower of sparkling drops. All around her, the tiny water crystals met the sea’s surface with soft plops—and was that a rainbow she could see forming in the golden sky overhead? 

In the brighter part of the heavens, she could make out the silhouette of a circling seagull. Beside her, the olive branch floated lazily on the gentle waves of the sea…

This was her land and she was so proud of it. Her culture, her people were so beautiful—how could she ever even dream of leaving it all behind?

That was when Alexandra turned her gaze back to the ancient temple on the hill, its beauty spectacular in the morning light. She considered both the radiant gods above and her own family waiting for her in the world of the living. 

Slowly, a smile spread across her features.

She wouldn’t let them down - not when the choice was finally hers to make.


End file.
